Trimba
Trimba’s antler touch thrummed with the sky currents. The invisible seas were in tidal shift and promising the song of life tears. Such did not shed hope on shortening the following. His lifeblood resonated further as his long neck swept down to read the passage of flesh among the tasty-blades. The great stag’s nose twitched, sorting the decay variants and assessing the hoof strides until they ran with the prey. A snort-sneeze erupted from him, and a shake of the rack set the scent right.
“I know, lad,” an ancient hand rested upon the muscled shoulder of venison, “Rain is coming, and the daylight hints at bedtime sooner than we’d like. I say we still have a chance though. The rock pass is in our favor.”
Trimba tolerated the touch of the wood walker. Their bond was herd. Their trails taken identical. He was up in oats to find his harem though. Led from his very glen by the shadow stealers indeed! The stink of them swept through the wood as streamers of evil. Two great hooves stamped into the warm land, pressing the need.
“Fair enough, my friend,” the elder agreed with a chuckle, “Time for all haste then. Perhaps we shall see who is the swiftest to reach the pass?”
Herd challenge! Trimba chuffed in agreement and burst into the wood, great legs hammering his form through the terrain. With twitching ears, the mighty stag grasped the wood walker changing to a sky swimmer, the flap of dusky feathers signaling his ascent. Carving his antlers before him, Trimba set to the task of reaching the stone walk first.