He walks through the forest without a sound —
not because he’s hiding,
but because he belongs.
His body is carved from wood,
but his soul feels like home.
Real dried plants rise from his head like antlers —
fragile, beautiful, and wild —
a crown grown from the forest itself.
And on those gentle branches,
a tired bird finds rest.
Not afraid, not lost — just weary.
The deer carries him softly,
like a memory that matters.
He asks for nothing.
He offers stillness, warmth,
and the quiet kind of love
that lets others feel safe enough to pause.
Not every home has walls.
Sometimes, it has antlers
and a heart big enough for two.