"'Llew, slowly now,' Gwythyr whispered.
His loyal friend did as was commanded of him and even stopped, allowing Gwythyr to lead now that the herd was within sight. The low branches masked any vision of antlers. They moved together like a flowing red hide stretched to dry and tan below the trees. Their underbellies were wet and matted, most likely from crossing the stream in the valley, but the early evening sun’s rays delighted in playing upon the wine-stained locks on their backs." - From Gifts and Other Tales, Unconquered