"Bardolph!" I yell. The air fills with familiar grunts and snorts, and a dark figure emerges from the distant fir trees. My heart skips for the first time in nine decades at the prospect of seeing my steed. Bardolph is large, even for a moose, standing eight feet tall with antlers nearly as wide. His fur is the same dark umber as mine, except his is far more luxuriant. He charges at me, his eyes glowing red, and white foam spattering from his muzzle. Clouds of condensation stream from his nostrils, a fierce and glorious sight. I raise a palm, ordering him to stop, and Bardolph makes a clicking
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