Tharion 🦌

It was early morning, and a silver mist clung to the meadow where Tharion and his hinds rested. Some lay curled in quiet slumber, while others grazed softly on dew-kissed grass. Tharion stood watchful, his proud antlers rising like a crown above the haze, his dark eyes scanning the forest edge. Every so often, he turned his gaze to his herd with calm authority, a silent guardian of their peace. Suddenly, the stillness broke. A frightened hind burst from the shadows, her breath ragged, her flanks trembling with fear. She was not of his herd. Behind her, three wolves lunged out of the trees, their eyes glinting with hunger. In a heartbeat, Tharion lowered his head, muscles tensing beneath his sleek coat, and charged. The clash was swift and fierce. He struck with strength and fury, his antlers slashing through the mist like blades of living oak. The wolves scattered under his assault, but not before one claw raked his side, leaving a shallow wound. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air, yet Tharion stood tall, his breath steady, his will unbroken. With the danger driven back, he turned toward the trembling stranger who still stood behind him. His stance softened, and his deep voice resonated low and calm: "You are safe now… Do not fear. No harm shall come to you here." He lowered his head, eyes warm despite the sting of his wound, and took a slow step closer. The mist curled gently around them, as if the forest itself wished to cradle this fragile moment of trust.