The stag shook its antlers in satisfaction and disappeared into the forest as quickly as it had appeared. Stoutroot leaned forward to study the sweet-smelling wonder that the beast had rubbed off on his lower branches. It was caked in a thick layer of dirt and his pine needles, but there was no mistaking that delicious aroma: this was definitely a peach. Gathering up the darling container of potential life into his branches, he held it up to the moon for a better look. He felt his heart ache with an old familiar feeling, a hopeful longing all trees possessed to plant a good seed.