The stag rose, his eyes like daggers, scanning the area around him for any signs of life. But there was nothing, not even the gentle rush of a breeze. His bulky neck swung round and his tail swished. The stag breathed heavily, with cold air spewing out of his nostrils. He turned, taking large steps towards an area where the trees spaced out.
He got closer, and his vision became a little more clear; The trees only circled around this area, allowing the sunlight to stream through the crevices and give life to the flowers that weaved in and out of the grass. There were even little stones scattered around the place, because in the very centre of this clearing, was a small ruin. It was made of an ancient stone which had crumbled in places and was concealed in a thick blanket of green moss. The stag was very fond of this place which he had visited many times before. There was very little activity here, he had the place all to himself. It was a great place to rest, build up his strength, or even shelter from the cold. But the sunlight never failed to disperse here, and at dawn, the moon never failed to glow either. The stag would retreat to this very spot every day, just before the sun sank beneath the earth. He would climb up onto a little column, which he only just managed to fit onto, and he would watch as the sun disappeared, and in time as it rose again. He often referred to this place as "home".