In my travels I came upon the land of Clickyville, a place ripe with the fruits of the earth and free from the grip of tyranny. Though the land was not fully formed, and was so underpopulated as to make me feel lonesome at all hours, I decided to settle down in the little town.
I explored its abandoned buildings, its thriving marketplace, its bountiful farms. But my favorite place, the one I frequented most often, was that of the fishing-hole near the graveyard. Its quiet beauty and calm waters did wonders for my soul.
I spent many days fishing there, simply enjoying the quiet and peace. It was on such day that I first saw it - the figure of a stag, barely visible against the grass opposite the docks. Having never seen another animal in all of Clickyville, I was naturally startled, but the beast did not seem to mind. It merely stood there, surveying its territory. As I approached it, however, it bounded off - startled by my movements, I suspect.
That was not the last I saw of the ghostly stag, but it did not appear everyday. Rather, its appearance continued to be a rarity, visiting perhaps once a week. There were times I had company on the docks, and the stag would show itself to me, but not to my companion, or the stag would reveal itself to him and not to me. I never was able to approach it without it starting, and so I resolved to enjoy its company at a distance, whenever it would see fit to grant it. I feel that I will never understand the ghostly stag fully.