Long ago, in the rolling hills of the English countryside, a group of travellers set out for a leisurely hike through the ancient woodlands of the Lake District. They pitched their tents, lit a crackling fire, and spent the evening laughing, singing old folk songs, and revelling in the golden glow of the flames. All was welluntil they realised one among them had vanished.
The missing man, a fellow of five-and-thirty named Thomas Whitmore, had wandered off with his camera, drawn by the sight of a rare wildflower near the path. He paused to take a photograph, but when he looked up again, the trail had disappeared. Thick bracken and twisted oaks surrounded him, and the voices of his companions had faded into silence.
“Hello!” he called out, his voice swallowed by the dense forest. No answer came. He stumbled forward, hoping to catch a whiff of woodsmoke or the distant murmur of friends, but the woods seemed to shift around him, leading him deeper into the unknown. His water ran dry, his stomach growled with hunger, and as twilight crept in, so did the coldand fear.
For hours, he shouted until his voice grew hoarse. Then, just as despair began to grip him, a strange sound reached his earsa rasping, laboured breath. His heart hammered in his chest as he turned, expecting a fox or perhaps a badger. Instead, a stag emerged from the undergrowth, its noble form tangled in a cruel snare of thick rope. The beast thrashed, its breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Good heavens,” Thomas whispered, stepping closer. “Steady now, I mean you no harm.”
The stag snorted but did not flee, as if sensing his intent. With trembling hands, Thomas drew his pocketknife and sawed at the rope, cursing under his breath each time the stag flinched. At last, the bindings fell away. The creature drew a deep, shuddering breath and stared at him with dark, knowing eyes.
“There, you’re free,” Thomas murmured, stepping back.
Then something extraordinary happenedsomething that left him rooted to the spot.
The stag let out a low, haunting call, like a beckoning whisper, before turning and pacing slowly into the trees. It paused, glancing back as though waiting. A strange certainty settled over Thomashe had to follow.
For what felt an age, he trudged after the stag, his legs weary, his mind clinging to fragile hope. Then, through the blackened branches, flickered the warm glow of firelight. His heart leaptthere, in a clearing, sat his companions, their faces etched with worry.
Thomas turned to thank his guide, but the stag was gone. Only the faint rustle of leaves in the wind remained, as if the forest itself had led him home.
