They're living a strange life. None of the other deer in their herd exactly... had an interest in, uh, the world at large. Nor did they grow out a strange tail. Or wonder, with slight embarrassment, at each other's lack of clothing. They found themself spending more and more time on their hind legs as time went on (after all, trees are yummy.) Soon, they were also listening to the conversation of other beings, testing out Common words, and unknowingly scaring the shit out of travelers in the woods at night as they tried to form sentences.

His first and perhaps most successful conversation occurred when he happened on a group of Elves one night. He approached the party, who were deep in their cups, and asked unprompted what type of tree they were sitting under (as it was, by his estimation, the tastiest to eat.) They answered "Hazel, Oisín," using the term for a deer — but he thought it had a pretty nice ring to it, after all, and elected that from then on it would be his name. He was offered some mead, which he hated, and a coat, which he has worn regularly since.

They'd been told tales, of course, of Kirin, the celestial justiciars, but... surely, they were only myth. Right?