The path glistened with morning dew. Moss, ambling down it, noticed this as his ankles were quickly soaked with the sweet-smelling water. The areas where white fur could chance a meeting with the ground were slowly being stained green, as were his white hind hooves. Supposedly, to the Stag, all of the green stains on the white parts of his fur were a sign of spring. In all honesty, they made him happy. It was often boring to be only black and white with no sign of vibrancy. The green stains were a but of fun for the stag, even if they came out with a good washing in the Idol's tears. It was as temporary as fawn's magic, and Moss enjoyed that.

Lichens squelched between the stag's toes, slowly making way to mud. This time of year the stream ran high, trying to imitate a great river. Mud was spread along the banks like spilled paint. The heavy stag's prints would join many others here. Eventually they would be erased by the sheer traffic of hoof and paw. It was time to move on.