In the tangling briars, under the humpbacked moon, across the rich full hills, sported the deer with the elk. They ran together, flanks scraping together, hoof-falls a sharp retort together.

The glade: hollow, abandoned, whole. A circle described by root, shadow and vine. And a line from deer to elk, unbreakable impeccable ramrod.

The locking of horns: prongs scratching madly, hoofs churning moss to spray, eyes rolling and wild.

The deer: thrown, humiliated, lifted. The elk draws him up.

A licking of wounds, of necks, of tines. Antlers, velvet bone and blood, locked this time gently faster faster, the moon blushes and snorts and leers.

Shove.

Snap.

Fall.

The largest tine of the elk’s right antler is jagged scratched shattered on the grass. The deer’s antlers are scratched strained erect from the effort.

The deer paws at the antler saying ‘I did not mean this’ ‘Beautiful you remain’ ‘I have taken you’.

The elk left.