Even blessings can have a dark side.

The battle for moonstone had ended and the deer had come out victorious. Baker had listened to the cheering and shouts of joy from many of the knights and countless deer whose hearts had been filled with hate at the humans. How could Baker cheer with them? Blood stained his denim jeans and matted the fur along his wrist. The scent of death came in various forms. The scent from the organs being exposed, the blood that was soaking into everything it touched, and perhaps the worst was the scorched flesh from the many flaming weapons. Baker didn’t label himself a warrior and had no desire to kill. He still remembered being a normal stag and the simpler life they’d once had. Their change in form and intelligence was a wonderful blessing in numerous ways but the cost was terribly high. Stags had fought then to prove their strength, to have the right to breed with the best of the does, and to defend the herd but the need to kill was rare. Those who could not stand were being carried inside. A few younglings were running about offering water to those who couldn’t stand until adults could tend to them. Some stags were grabbing dead human bodies to haul into a pile. Baker imagined they would be burned once all were gathered up but he didn’t ask. Walking across the landscape his gaze moved from one dead body to the next. Movement caught his eye, his muscles rippling startled and his hand reached for an axe he had forgotten to bring with him. Stupid. Baker’s hammering heart had been for nothing more than cloth trapped on a branch that was left to flutter in the wind. Was he some jumpy fawn now? Snorting in irritation at himself Baker was about to take another step when a sound reached him. Baker followed the sound of a whimper to a human that was lying on the ground, the slash through his abdomen suggested death would happen but possibly slower than the human would like. The human's ears went wide with fear as it noticed Baker standing nearby. The deer’s keen ears picked up the fearful pounding of the human's heart. “Fine,” the human’s mood shifting suddenly to desperate defiance, “come on and kill me then, I’m not scared!” Baker didn’t point out the lie for what it was. He doubted this ‘warrior’ was even old enough for humans to label him an adult. Children didn’t belong in a battle. It would be a mercy to kill him, to take away the pain and fear the boy felt. He didn’t respond to the boy but walked away. A few minutes later Baker returned a small bowl of water and a cloth with him. The deer knelt, ignoring the shock on the human’s face. Baker put the bowl to the young man’s mouth and the human's wariness momentarily faded as the scent of water caused him to eagerly swallow. “There now. That’s better,” Baker’s words were soft but his tone was a naturally deep rumble. Baker pulled the bowl back before the lad could drink all of it. “Let’s clean you off a bit and then you can have what’s left.” Human or stag, no child should have to die alone. Baker stayed with the boy well into the knight, cleaning off the blood and sitting with him. He spotted a few deer giving him questioning glances, but he ignored them until they left. To pass the time Baker told the child his story. He told him of the days of being a normal deer and told the boy about the magical change and the creation of Moonstone. He told the boy of the world he dreamed of at night. It was the start of the morning when the boy tried to say ‘thank you’ but no sound came. After the attempt was made the young man let out a last breath and his soul left. After that day Baker decided it was better to make toys for kids to play with instead of weapons made to kill.