“Ey, bring those damn deers inta the fold!” shouted the farm hand as his cigarette fell from his dry lips. He rubbed his coarse hands over his stubbled chin and through his greasy hair. “The deers, Siren! The deers!”
“It’s deer, Simon. Deer.” Siren corrected folding her arms across her chest and frowning.
“Wha?”
“The plural of deer is deer, Simon. For goodness sake- I know you have more of a brain than that!”
“I ain’t worry about no grammar. I worrying ‘bout the damn deer that are runnin’ loose!” Simon shouted, pointing to a young star deer that had escaped over the fence. “Go git ‘im!”
Siren nodded. “Alright, I’ll go get him. Don’t worry,” she said, taking up a rope in her hand and slinging it across her shoulder. She began to walk around the perimeter of the deer enclosure, nearing the loose star deer. “Hey there little fella,” she cooed as she approached the beautiful creature.
The buck raised his head, his large antlers forming a glowing crown around his head. His antlers shone so brightly that Siren stood in awe of them, staring into the galaxies that pooled and swirled. This is where the star deer get their name – you can see the galaxies in their mystical antlers.