The forest is cool and quiet, the air heavy with the scent of pine and sap. The stag is silent amongst branches and brambles, moving like a ghost. Sunlight dances through the thick, still air, spotlighting the ground in ragged patches. Dust motes dance and sparkle. The stag treads, unrelenting, sunshine dappling the brown hindquarters, the bone-white antlers. A woodpecker raps on the trunk of a towering redwood.
The stag pauses, one foot in the air, scenting the air. Then, he bounds away, graceful as a ballet dancer, soundless and lovely. King of the forest.
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