It started out simply enough; voyeurism was good for the soul, especially when the one glimpsing into daily life of another kin was an ambivalent bystander. He appreciated the rituals others did to tie themselves to the living earth; they were neurotic, bizarre, oftentimes damaging to the soul, but beautifully fascinating. It didn't matter the colors, shape or texture of the hooves, maw, ears, hair, scales or horns. The same things scared and brought them joy. It was not to say they were predictable. They were a joy and his favorite to watch, especially in this circumstance.

***

Woebegone felt the despair radiating from each thought, spiraling down until it fractured and created more problems. He hung his head and blew out a measured breath, and another, and another and so on until his panic threatened to overcome the even-keel tempo of his breathing.This was what madness was. He enjoyed the process but didn't want to be around the actual birth or what led up to it. The hormonal cries were shrill on his ear and he found each of his step faltered before her even made them. This broodclutch thing was serious business and very distressing for all parties involved. And that is how Woebegone found himself at the water's edge staring into the water, not seeing his reflection, nor the Stag or its eerie ghost owlcat.

He sighed and the forlorn sound caused ripples that pushed back even the stubborn cattails.

Perturbed to see a kin so down on his luck, Fiend shifted forms and bundled seemingly carefree up to the light colored buck. He trudged and brought up mud to rain down on the buck. Perspective change was all the buck needed he thought. But so morose was Woebegone that he merely sighed again before sinking further down into the ground, oblivious to the hardening muck.

She was already showing, she was large and he had been recruited for her care. He didn't dare let him feel excitement at the prospects of breeding true. Or the fun or joy of fatherhood. It was complicated. He was worried. He had no idea what to do or how long he had mimicked the proverbial stick in the mud. He-

Fiend nipped and hung from Woebegone's ear, swinging to and fro. A dramatic entrance was just as he needed. This buck had its own personal cloud. "You'll be fine and your clutch'll be numerous and many. Now go."

There wasn't an altruistic bone in him, hahahaha, but there were treasured buried at that waterspot. It just happened the other buck needed help more than anything.