The flames danced and sparked alongside the furs that danced around it in the blackness of the night. Their clear, elfin voices rang through the woods, stirring the night creatures into joyful wanderings.
They joined hands as they danced, a swaying circle of furry bodies, beaming faces, happy spirits, sincere eyes, bellies full from the sweet, fire-roasted meals they had shared, the aroma of which still hung over their camp. Their songs reached all the way to the starry heavens above, carried on the midnight winds. Beside the fire, there were two figures: a stag and a doe. And she was in labor.
Her mate held her hand tightly, speaking words of love and encouragement as he tended to her. But she could barely hear him, for her mind was in a mist from the pain, the hypnotic music, and the swaying ring of bodies that coiled around them. Each unspeakably painful contraction sent her further into the trance, and brought her child closer to life.
As she came closer to her delivery, the swaying press of furs danced faster, bouncing and leaping for joy at the imminent birth. Their voices became even louder, spreading almost around the continent. At last, the final contraction came, the doe let out a cry that was drown out by the song, and the head of her baby could be seen.
As the stag started to help the child out, the ring of furs saw and fell quiet. Their hearts fluttered in hope and expectation. Two female foxes ran forward, carrying water and sheets with which to wrap the child. The silence was then broken by the sound of an infant’s healthy cry. The vixen nurses cut the umbilical cord, washed the birthing fluids away.
When this was done, they handed it to the stag, who wrapped the child in the blankets. Then, with every eye upon him, he lifted his son high and declared, “I give you my son… Jal!”
At this declaration, a great light illuminated the sky, making the night appear as day. A cloud surrounded the stag and the child he held. A voice from heaven could be heard speaking from it, but its words were incomprehensible. When at last it lifted before the amazed eyes of the gathered audience, the baby had been transfigured. Its fur had become white as the snows of winter in full sun, but for an emblem that had been marked onto his forehead in gold.
The father stag was in tears as he lowered to his knees and passed the child on to its mother. When she held him, tears came to her eyes as well and she held the child to her bosom. As the light faded to leave them once more in the fire-lit night, the entire press of furs dropped to their knees, offering one final song – a lullaby to the newborn child, who drank of his mother’s milk, then fell into his first slumber.
And thus came to pass the birth of Jal, the blessed prince of beauty.

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A not-too-good example of me going with the first idea that comes to my mind, without first considering whether I can flesh it out, and then just going with it.

I was going to end it with something about how this is all being narrated by Jal's granddaughter, who is named after him. (In Tsadish society, there are no "male" or "female" names. All names are gender neutral.) And she's supposed to be like the leader of her clan now. I guess if you feel so inclined, you can do so.
Written while listening to "The River Sings" by Enya