From Catamite to Conquerer

The city of Cervine's Hold, the capital of the deer kingdom of Cervus. It was usually a bustling city, filled with chatter and trade. Today, however, the city was all but barren, aside from a crowd forming around a raised platform in the middle of town. The crowd was somber as they watched as a group of ten naked deer was bound in chains, metal collars welded around their necks one by one.

Today was a deer holiday of sorts, though it was nowhere near a particularly holly day. It was one of somber. Over the sounds of welding metal and clanking chains were the wails and sobs of mothers as they watched their sons prepare to be sent to their almost certain deaths.

A deer in armor walked across the platform in front of the ten bucks, reading off a list. He wore a dire expression. He gained no pleasure from what he did, but it was a necessity to protect the entirety of Cervus. A necessary evil in the end.

"Oak, Age 19." He said standing in front of a buck with dark brown, almost black fur. Like every other buck on the platform, he was still young enough to have his spots still. That fact made bile rush to his throat as he moved on, another guard welding a collar around the young deer's neck. He had done this almost a dozen times already, but it never got any easier.

"Meadow, Age 19." He claimed as he came to a stop in front of another deer. He couldn't bring himself to look upon this deer's face, which had tears streaming down his face as he hyperventilated. The little buck's knees quivered in fear as a guard approached and slid a collar around his throat and welded it shut. A wail emerged from the crowd as the collar's welding was finished, obviously from the bucks mother.

The guard gave a deep exhale as he stopped in front of the last in line. This was the last one, then he'd be done and he could send them on their way. He turned to the visibly youngest of the crowd.

"Thicket, Age 18." The guard said in a monotone voice as he looked at the deer. He was short, the shortest of the already rather small crowd. His fur was the lightest of the group in color, but his eyes portrayed a deep sense of timidness, sadness and fear. The guard gulped. The elk would likely eat him and his neighbor alive.

Thicket scanned the crowd fearfully as several more guards approached, holding in their hands a series of chains. With slow, gentle, yet firm movements, the deer's collars were linked together by the chains, forming a long line between them. A chain gang, literally.

The ten were mere kids, they had never done anything wrong, yet here was their own government treating them like criminals to be sent to the gallows. It chilled Thicket to the core.

Thicket closed his eyes as, with a strong yet short tug, the first in line started walking, everyone else following after, their hands bound behind their backs as they were lead down from the platform and due eastwards, the crowd parting for them solemnly.

The bucks were lead by a guard as each one of them contemplated their fates ahead of them. They had heard the stories. That the elk chieftains were cruel. Unbelievably so. That they were now in for short and painful lives ahead of them. Lives that would end likely before the year was even up.

They were so deep in thought that they didn't notice they had left the city until their hooves started to ache and burn. They didn't realize it until now, but they had been walking for hours. Through forests, and across plains and farmlands. Up hills and down into valleys. Often, the bucks would trip, either due to exhaustion or due to not watching where they were going, too overcome with self-inflicted grief.

There was practically a legion of guards and attendants around them right though. The bucks would often find themselves caught before they even realized they were falling, the attendants expertly watching them in case of any slips or danger. The elk hated it when there was so much as the tiniest scratch upon the deer catamites before they got their hands on them. They liked to be the ones doing the damage.

Thicket shook his head before one of the slaves opened their mouth to speak while they were walking alongside a river.

"I wish they drugged us," Oak said suddenly out of the blue.

"Wh-what?" Meadow stuttered after a small sniffle.

"You know, I wish the shoved us full of like, opioids or... like... that one drug they blow in your face to make you really susceptible to being told what to do," Oak explained looking back at his fellow tribute.

"Devil's Breath?" Another buck further up the line said. Thicket thought his name was Bramble... or something.

"Yeah, that. I wish they blew some Devil's Breath in our face and sent us on our way," Oak continued as he looked around to the guards.

"What makes you say that?" Thicket asked, deciding to join in on the conversation.

"Well, I think I'd rather meet the elk and loose my virginity to them as a mindless husk rather than conscious you know? That way I wouldn't feel anything..." Oak said, a joking but ultimately serious tone to his voice.

"Y-yeah. Not being able to feel anything would be nice..." Meadow whimpered as he awkwardly looked down. He gave an uncomfortable grunt when the collar dug into his chin and pinched his neck.

"You know, I heard that that is what they used to do in the old days," Bramble extrapolated as the large deer group passed over a small bridge. "They used to shove the tributes full of some kind of weird chemical that turned them into drooling automatons. It was so they didn't think about what was going to happen to them, and so they didn't try to resist at all."

"I heard the elk stopped that because they wanted the tributes to scream during the initial claiming," Thicket added looking out over the water as they came to the other side of the bridge.

"W-what do you mean initial claiming!?!" Meadow cried in sudden panic. Thicket and Bramble shared glances before Oak turned to the slave behind him.

"When the elk chieftain chooses you as his catamite, he immediately rapes you in front of the entire tribe and all the other chieftains to prove you belong to him," Oak explained, a certain tone of hopelessness and grim acceptance in his voice. All the color drained from Meadow's face.

He suddenly tried to break free from his chains, hyperventilating and screaming as tears welled up in his eyes. The line was brought to a halt as guards suddenly rushed to Meadow's side, grabbing him and holding him still.

"No! No! Please! I want to go home! I don't want to be raped!" Meadow cried in pure terror as a guard suddenly pulled out a syringe, stabbing the little deer in the arm.

"M-mommy! Please! I want to go back home to my mommy!" Meadow cried as tears freely flowed down his cheeks. The rest of the tributes merely looked at him in empathy, while the guards surrounding them either looked emotionally dead, or sick to the stomach.

Meadow didn't stop thrashing until the contents of the syringe took effect, and he slowly started to drift off to sleep, collapsing into the arms of the tribute's defenders.

Thicket stared down at Meadow as he was gently lowered to the ground with extreme dryness in his throat. He was honestly very close to collapsing to his knees and having a similar breakdown himself. He shook his head.

'Just don't think. Don't think and nothing bad will happen.' He mentally told himself.

The leader of the guard suddenly cleared his throat. "I... suppose now is as good a time as any to settle down for the night and... camp or something. We will have to begin moving again really early. Please get comfortable."

The group settled near the edge of the river later. The tributes stayed tied together in a long line as the guards fanned out to look for any threats while attendants set up a small camp, complete with a couple of campfires and some tents. There was the sound of fighting nearby, but it died away quickly and the guards returned. It was often that particularly rich deer would send foreign mercenaries to attempt to try to save their sons when they were taken as tributes, but the mercenaries were inferior in combat to the professional Cervus soldiery and dealt with before they even got close to the tributes.

The ten bucks sat together in a circle around one of the fires, looking even more hopeless, their one chance of escape crushed. Their arms were still locked behind their backs, and they had been given new shackles around their legs to prevent them from trying to run away as a group. Not that they could. Meadow was still fast asleep, and they couldn't exactly carry him without the use of their arms.

Thicket sighed as he stared at the fire. Listening to the sounds of the crickets chirping and the water running.

"M-maybe it won't be so bad. I mean... they get a tribute every single year right? They probably have really big harems that are like... full of bucks like us! Maybe they will only do us once then keep us locked in a room while they spend their days with the bucks they already have!" Bramble suddenly said, slight optimism in his voice.

"Probably not. I heard that since they know they are going to be getting a new buck next year anyway, that they'd just kill us or let us die at the slightest inconvenience..." Thicket mumbled as he looked into the fire. He imagined himself standing up and falling face-first into that fire. Just ending it then and there. That would probably be less painful than whatever was coming to them now.

"I know what you're thinking... I don't like it." He suddenly heard. Thicket looked up to see Bramble staring right at him.

"Well... Yeah. It just..." Thicket said with a sigh. "I just think it will be easier. What other choices do we have?"

Bramble gave his fellow buck a smile as he sat up. "We have to keep living! We'll find a way to escape, I know we will!"

Thicket gave a dry laugh and looked up at him, a slight smile coming to his face.

"You sure are optimistic." He chuckled.

"Someone has to be!" Brambled replied.

Although he was no larger than Thicket was Bramble's words resonated as loudly to his ears as if delivered by a full-grown dragon. There was a fire burning behind his eyes that Thicket found himself in awe of, a determination that Thicket had long thought extinguished amongst the captured. A tug pulled at the deer's cheek. Although small, the young deer's fire had successfully sparked an ember in his chest. It was a second wind to Thicket, one which made his smile grow, framing Bramble's face in his head.

It was hope.