Heat radiates off of all bodies. In the summer it seems to double, especially with black fur. It might be uncomfortable to even brush against the fur of a dark-hued animal due to the temperature. There was no exception to this assumption, even if the oil color was doused in cool water. The sun would still shine and the heat would still soak in as if liquid to a thick sponge. It was quite difficult to find a remedy for the beating summer sun, but for a deer of little color like Moss, shade was the only way to pause the consistent baking of his fur. A heavy dislike for the damp found in shade made this all the more an annoyance for the stag. Nobody had to mention the difficulty he would face finding a shady spot to rest in. The sun seemed likely to root out any place Moss hid away from it.

It seemed ages would be needed as the stag moved to seek out his medicine. Yes, it was good for him, but he did not care for the feeling of it, akin to a child not caring for the cough syrup they know to be a remedy for their painful throat. Moss was almost reluctant to hide beneath the shade of a tree he had found, choosing to find another that might be a little bit cooler. Shuffling along, the beast did manage to find a shadier tree. A source of water was nearby as well, making things just the slightest bit better... and the slightest bit worse. Though the cooling evaporations from the water were blown to him on the breeze, his spot had already become wet with dew. This shadow would have to work, because the overheated beast would rather not have moved.

The heat slowly faded, much like a sunburn. His body heaved with panting briefly at the beginning, but soon was as soothing as the breeze off of the Pond. The stag finally allowed himself to doze for a rather lengthy period of time. Awkwardness may have described his sleeping position. With no long snout to balance his antlers, Moss had to resort to leaning them against a tree. This squashed his mask against the left of his face in a most uncomfortable manner, while tugging on the leather strop that held his mask to his right antler and revealing a good portion of the right side of his face. Without much thought, the beast raised his leg to push the mask free of his chin. The back of the mask's forehead would rest against his own as his chin rested on the earth about three inches back. In all honesty, it made a nice shield from whatever rays would interrupt his sleep if you discounted what could shine through the eye and mouth gaps in the wood. Moss hoped greatly that too much sea breeze would not warp his mask.

Withers twitching to ward off a fly, the beast making little other movements in the shade slept. In almost random increments of time he would lift a large ear and rotate it, divining for any form of annoyance before allowing it to again fall and allow him another few winks of sleep.


One could almost think that the stag did not appear grateful for the summer that the Gods had given their forest. Though he found it to be less than pleasurable at times, Moss found summer to be a rather nice season. The majority of forest residents had a routine that involved napping around midday to escape the heat, for one. That was nice. There were many deer to lounge with. Being such a lazy stag, Moss could always seem to find a place to nap. In honesty, he often would seek out sleeping deer or quiet places to enjoy being a creature of such a wonder-filled and magnificently created place. Sometimes he would awake only to find that The Endless Forest seemed as if it were a dream inside of a dream he had actually been having, only to realize that this was indeed his reality. And though it was his reality, he would often think that the place of emerald trees and silken grasses might just be a dream of The Gods that had created this wonderful place. This would set his mind again on another flight of fancy, just as erratic as the flight of a hummingbird buzzing from plant to plant in some faraway garden. And just like that hummingbird, each thought pollinated more booming dreams.

That was, until a pesky fawn would cast a spell on him, effectively rousing the stag from sleep. Again he would sneeze it off, give the fawn a smile, a bow, and the occasional chuckle before lowering his form to the earth to wile away another few hours in thought. Maybe he would again dream.