The stag.

All is silent in the woodlands. The stag, majestic, king of his realm, stands still in the biting cold of the fading night. Nostrils flaring, ears pointed, he reads the signs in the wind. Danger!
He tenses. Suddenly, he hears it. The sounding of the horn, the barking of the dogs. He gallops away. At the end of the woodlands, too large is the ravine. He is cornered. Hunters and dogs sense victory. The stag doesn't stop. He takes a leap of faith, flying high over the precipice. And lands on the other side. Safe, for the moment at least.