He was a lucky deer, he knew. He'd survived to become a twenty-point buck through strength, speed, and, mostly, the assistance of the slim doe with the sad eyes. She'd borne him many fine children, and her uncanny mental prowess had saved them all many times.
He'd seen her, now and then, trying to regain her cloak, but only a tall-antlered buck could reach it in the tree where he'd stashed it. He knew that if she could steal it back, she would resume her other shape, the monkey-shape, and flee. He would never let her go; he loved her.
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