[ no, he thinks, loudly heard. no, no, no, no, and the dark mass under logs and dry canopies shifts in shades, almost as if the wind were blowing at the leaves but it's wrong. the pinks and blues of his tearing velvet pokes out against the dark light, and when he pulls back, his antlers catch on branches. they snap when the spike of panic hates the resistance, but it gives away his location immediately.
no subject
i don't know, jack, he ends the thought. ]