It had been some time since Miri had traveled the desert. Once, long ago, his mother had claimed they descended from these parts. Although whether or not it was true, he never knew. What he did know was that the sands burned at his hooves, and what little grass remained strained up at him. Begging for some form of restoration.
But Miri trotted on.
A stag of his size would have been somewhat unheard of in these parts. Even the other herdbeasts tended to give him a wide berth, unused to the sight of what to them must have seemed to be a grassland fattened buck. It was true, he could have become a lion and simply passed through undetected.
But that was not his intention for that evening. Shaking his antlers, Miri pawed at the ground. Beneath his feet, the small, almost greying tuffs of weeds seemed to green ever so slightly. He inspected them thoughtfully, but did not partake.
Instead, he waited.
