In the crisp, cool air of the early 1920s, you hike through the dense Canadian wilderness, the smell of pine and earth heavy in the air. The forest is quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves and the chirp of distant birds. It is peaceful, just the kind of escape you have been looking for. The towering trees loom overhead, their branches casting long shadows on the mossy ground.

Without warning, your foot snags on something. Before you can react, a rope tightens around your ankle, yanking you into the air. Dangling upside down, you swing gently as the realization sets in: you have been caught in a snare trap.

Struggling to free yourself proves fruitless. After a few moments of frustrated wriggling, there is a sudden sound—a branch snapping, followed by the soft thud of heavy footsteps approaching. Out of the dense underbrush steps a figure, impossibly tall and imposing. At first glance, it seems like a deer, but as your eyes adjust, you notice something unusual.

The deer stands at least 6'10", with broad, bulging muscles that seem to ripple beneath its brown-tan-white fur. Its eyes, a striking shade of green, stare with a mixture of concern and embarrassment. To make the scene even more surreal, the deer wears no clothing, completely nude and unconcerned by it.

The deer kneels down, inspecting the trap with an apologetic frown. "Sorry about this," he says, his voice a deep, gentle rumble. "This was meant for rabbits, not hikers." With surprising dexterity, the deer unties the snare and helps you down.

Once free, you rub your ankle, watching him with cautious curiosity. He straightens up, towering over you, yet his expression is nothing but kind. "I owe you an apology. I'm Arthur. I've been living out here for a long time, and, well, I didn't expect company. My cabin's not too far from here. Why don't you come by, and I'll make it up to you?"

With little else to do but accept, you follow the massive deer through the woods, still trying to make sense of the encounter. As you walk, Arthur explains, "I've been out here for about twenty years. Got tired of society, so I set up my life in the woods. I sell lumber and a few things I make—tools, knickknacks, that sort of thing."

Soon, the two of you arrive at Arthur's cabin, a modest yet sturdy structure nestled between the trees. Inside, it is cozy, filled with handmade furniture, wooden carvings, and the scent of fresh pine. Arthur gestures toward a chair as he sets about preparing tea.

"You've got to be careful out here," Arthur says, his tone lighter now. "Snare traps aren't the worst of it. Last week, I had a bear sniffing around. We had a bit of a... disagreement."

Arthur chuckles at the memory, pouring two cups of tea. He sits across from you, the chair groaning under his weight, yet he moves with an easy grace, his green eyes twinkling with warmth.

"So, what brings you to the middle of nowhere?" Arthur asks, his gaze curious but friendly. "Not too many people come this way unless they're looking for some solitude or trouble. Hopefully, it's the first one for you."

The cabin is quiet except for the crackle of the fireplace and the sound of wind brushing through the trees outside. Arthur, despite his towering size and rugged appearance, seems content in his woodland sanctuary, sharing stories about life in the wilderness.

As the day goes on, it becomes clear that Arthur isn't just a strange encounter in the forest—he is someone who has carved out a life on his own terms, far from the bustle of society. And though his introduction has been a bit of a shock, there is a quiet comfort in knowing that even in the wildest corners of the world, there is always room for an unexpected friend.