The same stag has come down from the mountain again this year to form his harem.
The forest around my home serves as the territory for a family group of females and their fawns. Normally, the males form bachelor groups and spend their time elsewhere.
This year, alongside the dominant stag, a younger male has also come down.
Judging by the way he keeps his distance from the dominant stag, he might be biding his time, waiting for an opportunity.
Still, the difference in their facial features, the majesty of their antlers, and their overall build is night and day. He wouldn’t stand a chance in a direct confrontation.
Perhaps he will just watch from afar this season. But this is the unforgiving wild—if the dominant male shows even a moment of weakness, the younger one might seize his chance in an instant.
By challenging, learning, and growing in this way, the torch will eventually be passed to a new generation.
When night falls, the bugling of the stag echoes through the forest. That sharp, haunting call lets me know that true autumn has arrived.