The stag walked through the brush, bending the branches as it went under them with his antlers. I was tempted to shoot him, but I was not in need at that point, and his majesty would be put to waste. I know not the hierarchy of deer or wild animals, but he was a king among his order.

He stopped briefly, only a couple meters from where I sat concealed in the bushes, and stripped the leaves off of a holly bush. His jaw moved round and round as he chewed them, looking around for danger as he did so. I dared not move a muscle as he stood so close, lest I startle him.

As I sit here watching him, I think about how this will surely be another thread in the tapestry of my life, another piece of the puzzle which makes me who I am. Gradually, he moves on and I come out of hiding to advance toward my destination. I look after him before resuming my own path, my bow in my hand and an arrow on the string.

It has been a long journey behind enemy lines, but I am finally nearing my objective. My comrades slowly come into view as they appear, one by one from the woods. The archers look to me and I give a curt nod of my head. Instantly, the air between us and the enemy bivouac is darkened with hundreds of arrows as we fire volley after volley into the unsuspecting camp.