The huntress froze, bowstring taut, arrow fletching pressed against her cheek.
The forest had eyes.
As she watched, the mossy hill stood up. The woody shrubs became antlers. The moss and grass became thick green fur. The stumps enormous wooden hooves.
A deer the colour of forest. A deer *made* of forest. And easily the size of a house.
The huntress held her breath as it approached, its footsteps sure, its head held proud.
It leaned over her bow, long muzzle inches from her face.
— You are not welcome here —
The words came to her as she gazed into those dark, shining eyes.
The bow fell from her hands.
As the creature disappeared between the trees, she thought next time she would bring a gift and not a weapon.