My grandfather and I follow a silver stag winged like Pegasus with gold antlers as it leads us through a dense forest. On our way, we pass a great lake. Flocks of white ducks glide along on the surface peacefully. They have black bills and frilly silver heads, a frosted tribute to the king cranes of Africa. We are at peace in total silence. The trail comes to an end, and we turn around, headed back the way we came.
I dreamed of the counterpart to my white hart a while back, a white hind (in Medieval lore, the white hart is the stag, and the hind is a doe).