Page 26 of Stags

But then…

Something stopped her from doing that. It had been one thing to boldly walk out into the field before the run began, to disappear off into the darkness, shaking her tail at any stag out there watching, daring them all to follow her. That had felt exciting, somehow, but going back in and getting another drink, it didn’t feel that way at all.

It felt like an admission of defeat.

She kept walking further and further into the woods instead.

She noticed a few of the breeding lairs that were set up out here. There was one that was inside a little cavern. She could see it because it had a light burning in there—a kerosene lantern, it turned out, when she got closer—and inside, there were cushions and blankets and a little curtain that could be pulled closed for privacy.

But most of them were actually made of camping materials. Several of them were tents. A few more were made of pop-up pavilions with the sides closed in.

She looked into these, out of curiosity mostly.

They were for breeding, after all, and she wasn’t here to be bred.

After a time, they seemed to thin out, and there weren’t anymore to be found.

Eventually, she came to a fence. It wasn’t well constructed. It was made of wood and wire—not barbed—and it was rusted in places. One of the wooden posts had fallen down, creating a perfectly welcoming path to walk over the fence.

The fence probably was meant to be the boundary of the Center’s grounds, and if she went over the fence, she was probably leaving the rite behind, and she didn’t need to do that, did she?

She saw a light off in the distance, through the trees.

The woods continued beyond the fence, but maybe only for twenty yards or so, if the light was any indication.

What was that light?

What was out here?

She wanted to see. She’d go and investigate, and then come back over the fence and wander back to find some bucks to get busy with. That was the reason she was here, wasn’t it?

She crossed the fence rather than answer that question.

When she did impulsive things, she did not always know why she’d done the things.

Later, she’d figure it out.

It was always for some reason she would swear that she would never do anything. It was because she wanted some thing that she was deeply ashamed of wanting. It was because she was denying herself something and telling herself she didn’t mind being denied it, and she always—it turned out—did mind.

She would rather not face this element of herself.

She walked over the fence.

She went to investigate the light.

It was the light of someone’s living room, it turned out. There was a house here, with a porch, and there was a light on, and she had definitely better go back inside the boundaries of the fence because—

Well, the someone who lived here happened to beonthe porch.

She looked up at him.

He was a wolf.

His tail was bushy and gray and slowly moving back and forth, not really a wag, but an even-handed movement as he sussed her out.

He was broad and furry and he had pointed ears, but wolves usually looked like that. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. He had teeth, sharp teeth, and she wasn’t sure why she was noticing that.

He moved forward, coming to the edge of the porch. He clutched the edge of the railing and peered down at her. “You seem to be lost.”

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