The sunrise was starting to struggle. It was taking longer to warm the landscape, as the light took longer to reach the Forest it provided for. Autumn was creeping over the home of the Deer. Generally this meant that their world would be brought into the turmoil of the Rut. Normally every stag of age would begin to feel the restlessness creep over their necks and settle behind their ears, driving every hair on their body and inch of skin it anchored in to shiver in anticipation of fighting and mating. Autumn was a time of fattening plenty and satiation of primal desires.

Unnatural calmness could bestow confusion on any beast during this time. One beast still neglected his desires for does, his desires for dominance. Truth be told, he hadn't any. Those others of the Forest were perplexed by such an action (or lack thereof) on plenty of occasions. Right now? Well, Moss should have been itching to clash antlers with another in the name of Mating. It was simply not the case. He remained in good humor. He remained a fatherly figure without having to be a blood relation to any. To him it did not seem right for blood to be spilled in creation of blood. He would have to maintain an endless amount of patience when dealing with rutting bulls, yes, for he would not engage them. It did not upset him, though, that many would be around to fight. He did not despise the action of sparring, but the outcome for the weaker of those competing. He prayed to the Gods that the healers of this place would save each and every one that was injured during this tumultuous period in the spinning of their world.

The musings of the black and white beast continued, interspersed with mild thoughts of where he could find some sun to warm his pelt. Without thinking, he lowered one black hoof into the waters of the pond. A chill that bit at his ankle's joint and spread to the very marrow of his bone threatened him. Needless to mention Moss was quick to gulp down a mouthful of the cool water and be on his way, tongue pressed to palate in an attempt to rid his sinuses of the ache that the cold water bestowed on them. A shake from head to hoof left him feeling a little better. Impatience to reach warmth had the beast moving quickly over the emerald grass and mosses of the First Forest. Though cool in the summer's heat, the were not the most comforting of trees to sit beneath in the algid months. Downright uncomfortable, they were.

The unnervingly bright sun of the Birch greeted him with open arms and he embraced each ray in return. It was only when the grasses he brushed against were tinder-dry and warm that he decided to stop and lay among them. The smell of warm wheat and earth elicited a sigh from Moss' gently-smiling maw. Each hair on his pelt seemed to shiver with warmth and a calmness crept over his neck and settled behind his ears. Each warm stroke of the sun lulled him deeper into whatever emotion overcame him. He did not have a name for this feeling but only knew it existed and he existed within it. In truth, it was the essence of his being and what he was known for. The area around the stag was calm and peaceful, free of the pressures of everyday life and the worries that seemed to cling to each mind around him. Momentarily, when Moss entered such a state, no worries existed. It was akin to a switch being flicked, the speed at which the calmness arrived like the millisecond flicker of electricity.

Nestled into the side of a hill that glowed with roasting color from the sun's welcome rays, Moss overlooked the rolling hills covered in dry wild wheat and mimicked their golden warmth with the emotion in his eyes. A gentle, upward slope created a smile on his lips. Autumn would be a wondrous season indeed.