Chapter 2

Pembroke chuffed, kicked up the snow, dropped his horns low, and charged the stag.

The stag in the shadows anticipated him, lifting just in the right moment.

Their horns clashed with a wintry chime, their large furry snouts puffing the air, muzzles, side to side, shared breath. Their bows of horns locked. To disengage too fast could lead to the tips breaking off.

It was a dangerous game, for once your antlers were broken, it could disrupt your receiving of signals, it could destroy your chance of safely teleporting. If too damaged, a reindeer would never be able to lead the Toy-Maker’s sleigh that season. He’d have to wait till a new pair grew in.

They gently leaned into each other, up on their hind legs. Their forelegs rested atop the other’s furry shoulders.

Their large hearts beat through their pelts.

A tricky and careful dance.

The more pliable one could be, the better were your chances of leaving the puzzle of horns unscathed.

Kassel gently tilted his neck, his bow of horns sliding away, swiping the jellied dust from Pembroke’s.

Pembroke’s antlers vibrated against Kassel’s.

The stags shared their frequencies before slowly backing away.

Pembroke silently followed Kassel to the stalls reserved for the deer training to be the Toy-Maker’s fleet.

Pembroke followed Kassel down the familiar rows to where his own stall was situated.

A golden plaque hung above his stall, Pembrokestenciled in cursive. Within, a mattress, trough, and a fresh bale of hay were laid out and on top a salt lick in the shape of a holiday ornament.

Pembroke watched as Kassel scraped his antlers against his gilded name plate.

Kassel looked around the stall. It was freshly swept by a young cadet. All of Pembroke’s practice harnesses were oiled and hung properly. He dropped the draw-string pouch on the fluffy mattress spilling golden hay, fresh, and there to be chomped or trampled.

“Wow, Pembroke,” Kassel yipped, “good for you! I mean it’s true what they say; you join the Toy-Maker’s fleet and bam! It’s like merry merry! You teleport to a whole new life of jubilant deliveries!”

Pembroke was immune to the stag’s sarcasm.

He quickly concentrated on his Change. It was usually a performance filled with the tension between his beast and humanoid self. Pembroke shelved it—Kassel wouldn’t appreciate it.

Pembroke’s horns receded; dripping jelly mess into his growing hair. His hands had formed by the time his fore-hooves reached out for a towel.

He rubbed the jellied dust from his black curls.

“I forgot the fleet encourages you to Change as much as possible.”

“No,” Pembroke countered, reaching for the pouch Kassel had brought. “Hands can do things that sometimes we deer cannot do…” Pembroke dangled the pouch by its drawstrings nimbly. “What’s this?”

Pembroke watched Kassel’s eyes change as they gazed down his transformed body. Yes, it was humanoid, but it wasn’t weak. Hillocks of muscle had bloomed beneath his brown skin. Not furry, just small tufts of black curls beneath his arms and between his thighs.

Those in the fleet knew the importance of keeping strong for night launches and endless teleport deliveries.

Who knew when they’d have to switch to humanoid form to help dislodge the Toy-Maker’s sleigh? The fleet always stayed prepared, working and training in their humanoid forms almost as much as their deer selves.

Kassel whinnied, his eyes devouring Pembroke’s tight skin that was the color of roasted chestnuts. “The holidays have come early…”

Pembroke lifted a crystal vial from the crushed, velvet-lined pouch.

Within, a thick liquor shimmered an almost black dark-red, dazzling from the powerful infusion of ingested sugar plum.

Pembroke gasped, fearing to drop the vial. “Elf blood?”

“You gotta try it. It’ll be fun.”

Pembroke looked at the stag who had already started his own transformation on the mattress.

Pembroke looked down at his friend. Kassel never made a good man.

His powerful stag body always seemed to resist the Change, so that he always seemed to be having a seizure as his body transformed. His voice cried out between snarls, like a protesting beast being swallowed.

“No Kassel.” Pembroke turned away. “You don’t have to Change.”

His fingers were already moist with sweat, anticipating the concentrated dust.

Only the Toy-Maker’s favorites were able to even secure sips of His wine laden with elf blood. A delicacy of the Toy-Maker. Something this powerful made the most wonderful of gifts. Pembroke looked down at his own bale sprinkled with dust, barely glittering in the warm lantern light.

But this vial, he’d need just a drop or two. Pembroke had heard the rumors of its potency.

He winced, listening as Kassel choked out, “No, it’s okay, I know this is how you like to play and besides, I want to play with you. I want to play Toy-Maker.”

The mention of Him made Pembroke turn back to his friend.