The Golden Fawn starts, as if awoken from a dream. Sacred or scared, glorious or gangly, a fawn must heed the hunter’s drums. See the beat echo in his chest. Fly! Fly! Fang and claw! Net and snare! Away! Away! Were he not held fast, surely he would have run. Were it anyone less than the Princess of Crevas, surely the tide would have swept him away. Even now he watches their spinning patterns, seeking the hidden trails, searching for a way of escape. (Goodness. This is an awful lot of hunter for one deerboy.) But there is no escaping the Khatun. But there is no escaping her Bagyum.

Well, Fawn? The huntress has come to claim her right. Will it be given willingly? Or must she [i]take[/i] it?

(Olesya is the center of the sky. On her shoulders, all the stars turn. All she has is a pink dress, black leathers, and a mask of war. This is enough. This does not diminish her.

The drums. The drums. Heavy blows dance on the off beat. Too swift for stomping feet to follow. Too thunderous to resist chasing. Faster, faster! Horns and strings flutter like ribbons. Horns and strings to carry you forward. Forward, through a sea of bells and howls. 

If only Juni could see this. From here.)

Ah, that he has not lost his tongue or nerve is testament to the star’s wisdom. For the Golden Fawn looks to his dance partner.

The Golden Fawn looks at his dance partner.

The Golden Fawn stares at his dance partner.

(The Golden Fawn forgot how close his dance partner’s face would be.)

The Golden Fawn speaks a whisper. For her, and her alone. 

“Crevas dancing is incredible. Thank you. I’d love to see more sometime.”

(She felt him go limp, laying all his weight in her arms as his breath escaped him. She felt him glow, steam and starlight burning bright. She felt him stiffen, and tremble, when the suggestion of teeth whispered across his bare neck.)

His courtesies are done. (The Khatun is watching.) He cannot tarry any longer. (The Khatun is watching.) The Golden Fawn has promised a dance to all who would seek him. Only by this promise are the hunters contained to this ballroom. It is a promise he must not break. (The Khatun expects Olesya to win.) With all the courage in his thin frame, he meets the iron gaze of the Bagyum. How, precisely, he is meant to curtsey while being held aloft by a Nagi is a mystery, but he does his level best. (As he is expected to.) And he rises, and he 

leaps

(Brave, silly boy…)

to the Princess of Wolves

(Does not know what he is getting himself into…)

where she will seize hold of him 

(Right where she wants him…)

and he will not escape her.
 
(All obey as the Khatun commands. She has nothing to fear.

Especially not whatever Hazel may say to Olesya, in the privacy of her arms.)