Saving Sancreith

I | The Stag

Everything was dead. The trees were blackened by the Great Fire that had spread hundreds of years ago, and no animal or plant returned to the place they once called home. Green saplings that had first sprung in the early ages of the land never managed to sprout forth from Mother Nature's crust after the fire's devastation. The animals of this once great forest seemed to cease to exist, never to return.

Darkness had grown over this land ever since the Great Fire spread its seeds of destruction. This darkness began to change everything as time went by, and now only dark, mysterious creatures dared to wander this barren wasteland covered in dense forests of dead wood sprouting from the crusts of the earth. Some of the dead trees bared sinister, gnarled branches that reached out onto every twisted, narrow path so as to snag onto anything that came near and keep them captive for all eternity. Others held no branches at all, only to mimic the structure of a monstrous spire reaching high into the twilight sky.

The ground was covered in a dense blanket of snow. Winter was here, just like it had been for many years, and everything was cold. Wind hissed in the air and the biting frost stung the skin like that of a wasp. Snowflakes whizzed down in a wild flurry, only to blanket the ground in a thicker covering of endless pearly white.

The wind died down, and the air became still. Everything seemed calm; an eerie calmness that had never touched this land before. Snowflakes, large in diameter, softly floated to the ground as if time had slowed for a moment. The old, dry trees creaked. A twig snapped somewhere off in the distance, creating a sound that echoed through the crisp air. Somewhere beyond a thick cluster of ragged trees, a delicate movement was made by an animal. It was fairly tall and slim, and it moved with fluid grace.

A man, who was hidden behind a thick shield of brambles, raised his head and squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look. His brow, barely visible from underneath his crisp, white hood, furrowed as he observed the movements of this alien life.

He was supposed to wait for an arriving army from the Southlands, but this new being was something he had never seen on this land before, and this prospect concerned him. He slowly and silently began to stand, brushing off the snow that had gathered on his broad shoulders. The man slung his bow off his back and fixed the string, making little noise.

The creature did not move, as if it had been frozen by the cold.

He began to slowly inch his way towards the animal, watching his every step to steady his pace.

He needed a closer look.

As each step passed, he could vaguely make out new features that he wasn't able to see from the distance. He could tell it was a light, creamy brown, and it bore majestic antlers on its crown.

Raising its head suddenly, the animal's ears twitched in each direction as if hearing something. The man stopped in his tracks. His steady breaths turned into elegant, billowing clouds of condensation.

Many minutes passed before the creature decided all was okay and it began to go back to its business. The man, who had for many years been a practiced hunter, let a few more minutes pass in order to deceive the animal in its alleged safety. Then, as he had done before, he took a few more slower steps closer, only to learn that his assumptions all along had been right.

It was a stag.

He had assumed it was a stag before he had gotten to these close quarters, but a stag had not been seen in this realm for hundreds of years. If it had not been for the Sigil of the King, whose patron was a Stag, ha would have not known what a stag might look like at all. He readied his bow and began the process to notching an arrow to it, but the animal, however, sensing a near danger, bounded off, seemingly gliding through the air with amazing swiftness. Knowing he wouldn't be able to chase after it, he cursed under his breath and began to unstring his bow. He slung it across one shoulder and stood to his full height.