Leif

"Awoo, goes the wolf as 'e began the hunt, awoo! Any louder and ye will leave him with none!" Guttural deep tones bellowed from a long, thickly coated neck, antlers thrashing as the white stag tossed his head, pace set at a leisurely jog to match the tempo of his song. It was an old song, something he could remember his mother elegantly cooing to him in his ears as a calf to teach him the ways of the hunter, and the ways of the prey. Despite the years since his parent's murders, the song always came to him, as many did, and Leif was never one to stop a good song from being sung. It was an Elk's job, to sing. Why else would the Gods have given his species the ability to bugle so loudly?

"Hold fast, ye stag! Hold fast, ye doe! Thrash your head, to and fro!" For emphasis, Leif paused his motion and reared his front half up and off the earth before slamming cloven hooves back down, a smile upon his handsomely dished, elegant face as he ducked his head and thrashed his impressive eight-tines to and fro, just as the song instructed. "Awoo, goes the wolf as 'e avoids your tines, awoo! Hold fast, ye elk, one more time!"

It was late evening in the Aurora Basin, and Leif found himself enjoying his solitary company of none near the hot springs. The northern herdland was proving to ease his anxieties, the surrounding mountains looming like silent protectors, but he had yet to attempt to befriend any of the other not-horses that called this place home. Elspeth was a heavenly woman, all kindred kindness and soothing honesty, and Leif almost dared to consider her his first, and only, friend. Rexanna had been beautiful and warm in her welcoming, permitting him entrance into the Aurora Basin and going so far as to show him around, pointing out important landmarks that the white stag did well to remember.

It was his home, but... It had yet to feel like home. Perhaps, given more time, it would. For now, Leif simply focused on learning more about horse customs and kept his company, and his songs, to himself.

"Awoo, goes the wolf, calling his kin, awoo! 'Tis a warning ye might not get again!" Once more Leif continued his jog, legs snapping upwards only to smash down upon the earth in tempo with his deep, raspy vocals, lost wholly and completely within his song and dance, "Hark, ye elk! Fight o' flee! Flee o' fight! Hurry, disappear in the night!"

As the last of the deep sounds emanated from his throat, the alabaster Elk stood motionless and tilted his head up, a deep, loud, piercing sound escaping his maw as he ended the song in a hauntingly beautiful bugle. It echoed across the silent air and into the evening sky, and Leif inhaled deeply, proud of his simple song.

the white stag