The stag swayed, his head held high as he floated through the forest. In all ideals, the black and white beast would be a wonderful competitor in the season of autumn and her rutting games, but he chose against partaking out of principle. No, Moss didn't think himself the better when compared to the participants. In fact, just one year ago, he felt himself inferior to those who could take up their tines and fight for the females. Now, though, he just watched them do what they were born and bred for.

Bugling echoed back and forth. Each white ear picked up the sound of another pair of potential knights. I hope they find what it is they desire. The silent prayer was sent out through thin lips shaped in a mild grin. Any further prayer was cut short by the deafening sound of bones upon bones. It made the stag's blood run cold and muscles burn with heat at the same exact moment. His ears pinned but yearned to hear it again. Black eyes closed, he fought to keep them from opening to go and watch the deer partake in their battle, whether it be mock or not. From the sounds of it, maybe two gargantuan beasts were brawling. If so, he would find large swathes of tilled earth and broken trees to mark their arena later. The forest was already dotted with a few such spaces, and would be peppered by the time they finished.

Silently, the stag marched on. The mannerisms of the moose were apparent, though he was nowhere near such a size. The plod at which he held his gait was slow and meandering, as if he were unaware that war raged on around him. It was then that he crested a small hill and found a gathering of does below. They surrounded the giants that were fighting for their maidenhoods. The scents of musk and estrus mingled on the wind. It only seemed to drive them harder at their goals.

It behooved Moss to take a moment to share the does' respect. These stags sweat and bled as they tested the other's strength.