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Tanner   Loren                               

   The first light of dawn spills across the mountain meadow, brushing the frost-tipped grasses with gold. From the shadowed edge of the pines, a bull elk lifts his massive head, breath steaming in the chill air. Then, he calls — a haunting, echoing bugle that rises from deep in his chest and sweeps into the cold autumn sky. The sound ripples across the valley, wild and ancient, carrying a challenge to rival males and a summons to distant cows. Around him, the forest stills — even the wind seems to pause, holding its breath as the elk’s cry fades into the whisper of falling leaves.