The Mighty Stag

He was dying. He was in his prime, yet he was dying. His mom would have been proud of his mighty antlers, but that's not the way amongst his kind. He had left the comforts of his herd like all young males had to. He had found his own territory, marked it out the only way he knew to and had grown big and strong. He had grown his massive antlers, good enough to challenge the dominant male in the adjacent territory. He wanted to pass his bloodline.

But he was dying.

His knees were shivering now. Very soon, he would have to crumple into a heap on the grass. He didn't want that as much as possible. He was destined to be the alpha male; alpha males face death bravely. But he had expected it from a younger male, he expected to be maimed in a fight for dominance, he expected to be left for dead by the group. He expected to at least be head of his herd for a few years.

He had been hit when he least expected it. He had felt it before he heard it; a sharp sting through his ribs; a searing stab into his vitals that spread heat as it travelled through his insides. And then the sound came, a sharp crack that echoed amongst the hills. How was he to know that death could strike him while he was eating breakfast? His knees buckled. He had so much to life, but he didn't have any to spare now. -Jimmy