Bugle

Deep in the forest the sound of a bugle broke the silence. A harsh and high pitched sound that ended with a few rough huffs. Silence crept in again. He grunted and stood up, his joints aching from the poor weather. The bugle sounded again, he shook his ears, water droplets flew from them. He yawned and took in his surrounding. His dark and cloudy eyes struggled to gain focus.
He was no longer a young and agile bull and it had become difficult for him to navigate the forest. The young bucks had luckily left him in solitude, including the one now disturbing the quiet. After the sleepless night he found himself frustrated and achy. He stumbled toward a mountain stream not far from where he had taken refuge from the storm. His heavy head, burdened with massive and intimidating horns, lowered to the waters surface to drink.
The stream was normally barely more the a steady trickle of fresh mountain water. Now it too was angry and ran white and choppy. It didn't concern him. At his age there was not much that frightened him anymore. Even the rampaging storm that had torn through his ancient home during the night had not been so much distressing as it had been an inconvenience. The bugle sounded again and the old bull snorted his disapproval. Somewhere deep in the forest the young elks call was heard and the response filled the stagnant air with tension.