Winter part deux-- The White Stag

It was in the darkest hour after midnight the night after the party returned from their latest adventures at Thistletop. Winter lay by his customary campfire on the beach near Sandpoint, staring into the glowing coals and listening to the waves lap the sands only a stone's throw away. Usually this would be enough to lure him to sleep, but his rest had been troubled by strange dreams lately of which he could remember only flashes, and even that restless slumber eluded him tonight.

Rising from his blanket with a grunt and a grumpy yawn, Winter strapped on his newly acquired green dragonscale breastplate, cloak, and other accouterments and resolved himself to go for a walk, in hopes of sleeping upon his return. He languidly made his way down market street and picked up the pace as he crossed the bridge leading out onto the lost coast road. He walked on the roadside for a bit before, when a small clearing in the trees presented itself, heading off into the forest. Winter picked his away through the branches easily for a bit before finally finding a small game trail a few hundred meters from the road. After walking for what seemed like perhaps half an hour, he stopped, hearing the sound of movement in the brush ahead.

A magnificent, pure white stag made its way onto the path, seemingly unaware as he crouched only a few paces away. The creature was a paragon of its kind, as tall as a strong man's shoulder and impressively muscled, with a massive rack of dagger-like antlers to say nothing of its snow white, lightly furred hide which now seemed to glimmer in the light of the half moon showing itself through the clouds. Winter felt his heart seem to jump a bit with the wonder of being so close to such a beast.

With a snort, suddenly the stag turned to stare directly at him. Winter froze, but the stag made no move to charge or flee. Stamping one hoof, it tossed its head a bit and stared at him, seeming to beckon him to approach. He rose slowly and walked toward the creature, raising one hand in an open palmed gesture lest it crush him beneath its massive hooves. The white stag lowered it's head a bit and allowed Winter to caress it's huge muzzle and pat its head.

Suddenly the stag raised its head and looked directly into his eyes again. It's irises were like pools of liquid moonlight, and Winter felt suddenly dizzy. He heard a wave of euphoria wash over him and suddenly the stag turned it's head into the forest.

Winter looked down and saw that his feet were no longer his own. Solid black hooves and lithe brown, yet strong legs had replaced his. The euphoria surged throughout his form and suddenly he found himself standing on all fours, shaking his newly antlered head and stumbling almost to the ground before regaining his balance as a quadruped for the first time.

The Stag had already taken several steps into the brush beside the path and then reared up on its back legs, tossing its head to beckon him toward the wild forest and springing into a quick trot off between the now silvery-lit trees beneath the half moon. Winter found himself drawn to follow, and soon he was racing between the trees with the Stag, leaping over shrubs effortlessly and reveling in the grace of his newfound form.

Winter remembers little of the night after that chase except an incredible sense of calm and euphoria at the same time. He awoke late in the morning with no memory of returning to the beach, the sun now high overhead. Despite the strangeness one would expect, he felt only a new sense of wisdom and purpose as he contemplated what do do with his new gifts.

Someone's been reading their fantasy novels. Nice work