Stag

         
The whole world is black and grey and the ground shrouded completely with thick fog. Rising like the backbones of huge, sleeping animals the mountains roll, their majestic spines rising just over the top of the impenetrable mist. All is silent, but for a baleful hooting of a great horned owl, unsuccessful again in his attempts to find dinner for his family. His noiseless wings stir the fog as he bursts through the surface of grey, flying homeward. A light breeze rustles the treetops, whisking away some of the vapor and revealing a deep green forest still flecked with half-melted snow. A songbird somewhere chirps. The old owl hoots again from the far side of the mountain; his dinner is waking up, but he is far too tired now to go back and fetch it. He settles back in his nest next to his indignant, hungry owlets and mate, head under his wing, as the world around comes to life.

Dawn is breaking.

A squirrel pokes her nose cautiously into the chilly air, her beady black eyes ensuring the coast was clear before scurrying down the slippery trunk to the forest floor.

Birds everywhere are flitting from bough to bough, warbling their morning song to each other.

A bear, groggy from his long winter nap, stumbles through the foliage, looking for some tasty morsel to fill his grumbling stomach.

A pair of antlers slices through the last wisps of the morning haze, riding atop a sleek, tawny stag, young and lithe, darting quietly through the tall, dark trees. His four slender legs are long and powerful and carry him swiftly over the cold, wet leaves, where his small hooves make hardly a sound. He bounds up the steep slope, on a path so very familiar to him, until he reaches the ledge on the side of the mountain. There he pauses, knowing he is halfway home.

The sky is shot with pink and gold. No trace of the mist remains, only a few lavender streaks in the pale blue sky, ringed with the promising yellow light of the sun. A small flock of birds flash by, swooping and diving in excitement. The whole forest knows what is coming.

Like a spring overflowing with frigid snowmelt water, a crescent of brilliant light bursts over the horizon, spilling warmth like molten gold down into the valleys and over the hills and mountains. The old owl shifts in his sleep at the comforting heat.
The dazzling light gleams in the stag’s eye, soft and black, full of the courage of a young father. He blinks briefly. The sun lifts slowly into the azure sky, but the stag does not pause to watch its progress. His legs kick out and he sprints into the trees.

Breathing hard, his hooves finally slow to a trot. His nostrils twitch at the familiar smells around him. Two dark eyes glint from the shadows, welcoming him home. His muzzle, the color of soot, nuzzles his mate and new fawn. Her speckled coat shines copper and ivory in the sunlight as she struggles to stand on wobbly legs. Her mother nudges her gently, but in her haste to greet her father she tumbles to the earth again.

Tired from his long run home, the stag comes to rest on the compressed leaves next to his mate.