I put this in here as you may find it funny. On a recent trip to Scotland I found myself on a hill top taking in the views. When to my own amazement I found myself writing a poem in mt head. I've never had the desire or even thought of writing before so this came as a surprise to me. Now as a boy I was told my spelling was terrible, I had no imagination and my use of language was poor. I may become a dustman or such like. Well the former were probably true but I've never been a dustman.
Anyway just to show stalking can be far more than the pursuit of deer here's my poem.
I hope it brings a few memories to some. Spelling and grammar can be corrected if you wish.

The Roar.
On the hill in the dark and chill, awaiting the light to break through,
Comes a sound from the dark, that awakens the heart,
As the roar of the stag fills the moor.

As light starts to break, and the world begins to wake, colors begin to emerge.
Yellows and browns cover the ground, while ruby red berries glisten like gems in a crown.

The stag standing proud, surveying all that is around, brings the hunt back into ones mind.
It's time for the stalk, the long silent walk, to see if the stag will fall?
But not before one has crossed the moor, comes a sound so old and primeval.
The roar.