Medieval Deer Hunt
Mood: The mighty stag pauses at the crest of the hill, sniffing the air, its hooves leaving dainty prints in the pure white snow.
Smells Like: Roasted pinecones toasting in a hearty huntsman's fire, and sandalwood shavings in his satchel.
Scent Strength: Medium
"I need this one. It is pure Christmas in a forest in a jar."
"Love it! Felt like being outside on a wintery day in the forest."
"Love this subtle, woodsy scent. Smells like a cabin in the forest"
The forest king, a stately stag, walks the paths of his realm, listening, sniffing, alert.
The snow covering the forest floor has made food scarce for his charges. He scratches away the ice, hoping to find grazing beneath and yearlings strip bark from the stately trees.
A sound catches his ears, the distant bay of approaching hounds. He gives a cry and, as one, his herd moves. Gracefully leaping from the clearing into the thick underbrush. As soon as they are well away, the great stag takes his flight, leading the hounds away from his mates and offspring, deeper into the woods.