Of Moose and Men

Kolt crept through the underbrush, his paws silent against the damp forest floor. The scent of autumn hung heavy in the air - decaying leaves, rich soil, the first hints of winter's chill. He reveled in it, in the subtle shift of the seasons, in the way the land seemed to be holding its breath. A rustle up ahead caught his attention. Kolt froze, his ears swiveling forward. There, in a small clearing, stood a bull moose. Its massive head was lowered as it browsed, antlers glinting in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the canopy.

He knew he should back away. There was no question in his mind. But of course, his youthful would curiosity get the better of him. He couldn’t help but inch his way forward, wanting to take a closer look. And as fate would have it, a twig snapped beneath his paw. The moose's head shot up, its dark eyes locking onto Kolt. For a heartbeat, they stared at each other, the forest holding its breath around them.

Then the moose snorted, pawing at the ground. It lowered its head, antlers pointed directly at Kolt. A clear threat. Kolt's heart raced, but he held his ground. Some instinct told him that running would only encourage a chase. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height, meeting the moose's gaze steadily. "Easy," he said, his voice low and calm, despite the hammering of his heart. "I mean no harm." He said more to himself than the moose.

It snorted again, its breath misting in the cool air. It took a step forward, its hooves thudding against the packed earth. Kolt fought the urge to back away, knowing that any sudden movement could trigger an attack. He kept his posture relaxed, his eyes locked on the moose's, trying to project a sense of calm he didn't quite feel. But of course, all that would go out the wayside when the bull lowered its head to the ground to charge.

"Kolt Carpathius"