The Monarch

2025

He stood unmoved, a statue born of breath and bone, his crown forged not of gold but of ancient growth. With antlers like branches reaching into the sky, he surveyed the world with a gaze as old as the earth itself.

There was no arrogance in his stare—only knowing. A quiet certainty that he belongs, not merely to the land, but as part of its heartbeat. His fur carried the scent of pine and last nights rain, his eyes the memory of storms and spring.

To behold him was not to witness an animal, but to meet the soul of the wild—alert, enduring, unyielding. A privilege.