Out of the morning mist, he emerges. King of the wild things,
sun rising between velvet antlers, antennae reaching up
like hands to the sky. Horned One, Mabon has come. The chase is on.
Driven by instinct and desire, the monarch of the glen loses all caution
and courtesy. Willing to surrender his last breath to the fight;
blood smells of sweet heather. Survive and breed is an unending sport.