Oh My Deer
Posted: Mon Dec 29, 2025 7:16 pm
Jinyel had never been fond of afternoon hunts. It was a late time to start, almost always slid into nighttime, and he truly disdained hunting by nighttime. But the Hollow Prince’s boy, Toutouye, seemed utterly convinced that the timing of this hunt didn’t matter, and that they could kill a deer simply by walking up to it. He swore up and down that the deer would not run, not from humans, not from arrows, not even from the wolf at Jinyel’s side. It would merely stand there and wait to be killed.
Anywhere else on Idalos, Jinyel would have dismissed the claim outright, but Scalvoris was an island with sentient bears and turtles made of moss. Against that backdrop, a deer with no fear of death was only slightly unbelievable.
Toutouye led them westward, several miles from Egilrun and away from any proper road. The land here rose and fell in jagged, stony shelves, trees and undergrowth thrown across it like a king’s green finery.
Close close close, Toutouye signed as the land began to flatten. Pond close. It’s by the pond. Good fun. This will be a good hunt. You ready?
Jinyel spotted a break in the trees ahead and slowed, pointing his borrowed crossbow at the ground. He couldn’t draw a traditional bow with his injury, but the metal stirrup of a crossbow let him put all the strain of drawing the string into his hips. He simply had to straighten his posture to prime the weapon, and it would remain ready until he chose to fire. He would only have one shot before the prey fled ― if it fled ― but that hardly worried him. His aim was sure, and with the subtle nudge of his magic, direction mattered little.
The pond came into view. Beside him, Toutouye nearly vibrated with excitement.
Now. Here. This pond. It’s around here somewhere. I know it.
Toutouye turned north, leading them along the edge of the pond without drawing any closer to it. He watched the ground with the single-minded focus of a hunter who knew exactly what he hunted, scanning for signs Jinyel had yet to learn. Jinyel, trusting that focus, turned his own attention outward, to trees and undergrowth and any dangers which might spring upon them.
Here! Toutouye halted so abruptly that Jinyel nearly collided with him. These tracks! Fresh! It was here not two breaks ago, and went east.
Jinyel followed the boy’s pointed finger. Deer tracks pressed unmistakably into the autumn soil, though they differed from most he’d seen. The hooves were larger, broader, but the stride suggested an animal of ordinary size. The contradiction made it difficult to determine age or sex, but buck or doe, the meat would serve the same purpose.
I see. Jinyel took the lead without ceremony, and Toutouye yielded to it just as readily. I can follow this thing easily enough. Will you help me carry it back to Egilrun, to be preserved?
No need. Toutouye grinned. The meat of an oh deer never spoils.
That gave Jinyel pause. Truly? Are you pulling a prank?
No. It is true. This meat we find shall remain fresh for as long as we wish, until we choose to cook it. It will get better, even. The longer this meat is left raw, the tastier it becomes.
It was nearly as unbelievable as a deer that refused to flee from hunters. If such a thing was true, why hadn’t Jinyel heard of it? Why wasn’t this meat traded in every market, stacked in every pantry, hoarded in the Hollow Prince’s own larder?
Questions for another time, he reminded himself. When that time came, he suspected his questions would number in the dozens.
Afternoon slipped swiftly toward sunset, but the hunt itself was short. The tracks were steady and direct. It didn’t zig-zag through cover or hesitate at open ground like an ordinary deer. It knew where it was going and moved forward without doubt.
The forest opened into a clearing where a mighty tree had once fallen, leaving a hole in the canopy. Grass thrived around its rotten trunk, greedily drinking in the excess sunlight for as long as the autumn weather would allow.
In the center of that clearing, calmly grazing, stood a stag.
It was young, perhaps too young to be properly called a ‘buck.’ Its antlers bore only two prongs on each side, and its hide was unmarred by scars. It likely hadn’t seen its first spring spar. Yet it stood unusually stocky for a deer, compact and solid in a way that set it apart from any Jinyel had seen before.
This one? Jinyel asked.
This one, Toutouye confirmed gleefully.
Jinyel stalked along the edge of the clearing with practiced silence, his steps soft on the damp leaves. Monya fell into step beside him, head low and nose skimming the ground. They took cover behind a hackberry thicket, and Jinyel steadied his breathing and lined up the deer’s flank. His ideal shot lay on the left side, just behind the elbow, where a knot of nerves above the heart would ensure a quick death.
A twig snapped beneath his foot.
The deer merely flicked an ear at the sound. No terror. No readiness to flee. It continued grazing, broadside exposed.
Breathe. Hold. Squeeze.
The arrow flew true. He knew it did. The point struck exactly where he’d aimed, and then… glanced off. Left a line of blood behind, but didn’t so much as stick in the skin.
The deer’s head snapped up. Two long, white fangs slid from its mouth. For a heartbeat, its eyes locked with Jinyel’s.
“Oh,” Jinyel breathed. “Shit.”
It charged, throwing its full weight and reckless fury at him before he could even think to reload. It tore through the hackberry thicket, antlers down, and Jinyel raised the crossbow to catch the prongs. Wood and bone tangled, slammed like a bar across his chest, and drove him backward into the underbrush. He grabbed his knife, heels skidding, and stabbed for the deer’s shoulder. The blade pierced barely an inch before sliding free, as useless as the arrow had been.
Snarling, the deer smashed Jinyel against a tree. Pain exploded through his back and shoulders, blinding him long enough for the deer to slip past the crossbow’s guard ― and into his leg.
He screamed when the fangs sunk in, then again when the animal tore sideways. It flung him nearly three feet with sheer spiteful strength. His vision cleared just in time to catch a blur of black fur overhead.
Monya struck.
The she-wolf hit the deer square in the chest, teeth finding flesh in a precise, calculated attack ― too high for the stack to kick, too low for it to bite. It didn’t stop the creature. It enraged it. When the deer realized it couldn’t reach the she-wolf, it barrelled back toward Jinyel, over him, and slammed Monya into the same tree.
She yelped and fell, dislodged.
The deer lunged for her.
Jinyel lunged, too, one leg useless, and seized the antlers from behind. The stag bellowed, twisted, tried to turn its fangs on him, but Jinyel jerked its head up, back, and put his own teeth to work.
Eight scalpel-sharp canines sank into the deer’s throat, and by the grace of every star in the sky found better purchase than arrow or blade. Hot, metallic blood filled Jinyel’s mouth as he sawed through immensely thick skin. Tendons snapped. The windpipe crunched. The deer tried to bellow again and only forced more blood through its open arteries.
Another pair of hands clamped over Jinyel’s.
Toutouye, who had been watching from Fates only knew where, ripped the deer free from Jinyel’s mouth with a savage cry. He dragged the animal a few feet away, then repeated the hunter’s motion, sinking his own teenage teeth into the same ruined stretch of throat. The deer, nearly bloodless by then, offered only token struggle as Toutouye tore out the last of its life.
Jinyel collapsed and focused on breathing. Phantom blood poured out of an injury he didn’t have, but his mutation echoed nonetheless. Pain was his price for this victory, but pain was a familiar visitor. It was one he was glad to pay in exchange for his life.
Monya rose onto three good paws, one lame paw, and limped over to him. They spat out gristle and looked each other over ― Jinyel with a torn thigh, Monya with a fractured tibia ― and were relieved to conclude they both would live.
Graft: Energize: Repair Flesh.
Just enough magic to stop the bleeding. Full healing could come later.
Once they could stand again, he could decide what to do with this Oh Deer that Toutouye had failed to warn them about. And perhaps ask Toutouye to explain better next time, though the boy was so elated by the bloodshed that it might do no good.
For now, though, Jinyel rested. He breathed. And when the adrenaline finally ebbed, he allowed himself the quiet pride of having survived ― and slain ― something truly vicious and unexpected.
Ending Details:
Jinyel kills a yearling male oh deer. He suffers a ripped up leg, and Monya suffers a fractured leg. There are treated afterward by Jinyel’s Expert Medicine and Expert Graft.
Jinyel swallows several mouthfuls of oh deer blood on accident.
With Expert Fieldcraft, Jinyel skins a full measure of Blooded Leather, enough for an armor set, and between his Fieldcraft and Expert Cooking he butchers twelve measures of oh deer venison. Also keeps two small yearling antlers.
Jinyel swallows several mouthfuls of oh deer blood on accident.
With Expert Fieldcraft, Jinyel skins a full measure of Blooded Leather, enough for an armor set, and between his Fieldcraft and Expert Cooking he butchers twelve measures of oh deer venison. Also keeps two small yearling antlers.