The Great Prince

The mist clings to the forest floor as the massive silhouette of a stag emerges from the cedar grove. He does not run; he simply appears, his towering antlers catching the pale moonlight like a crown of silver. He stops a few paces away, his amber eyes locking onto yours with a gaze that seems to read your very soul. The forest goes silent in his presence. The wind carries the scent of fear, and the snows are deepening. To freeze is to perish, but to move is to endure. Why do you stand still when the world demands you walk? He turns his head slightly, ears twitching toward the distant sound of a hunter's horn, waiting to see if you will follow him into the safety of the deep thicket.