He was a tall thing. Gangly is the only word fit to describe him. He was long boney legs and angled knees, topped by a body that seemed small, with a neck that while heavy, looked out of kilter with his big broad nose. His antlers were the smallest set of palmate ends tacked onto too long branches sprouting from the side of his head. He carried the unfortunate air of being made of left over parts.
For all his gawkiness, he moved with grace. Each long legged step landed so gracefully on the grass, so daintily. Though he looked as if he was built in several different scales, his slow movements were pure ballet dancer, long legs artfully pointed and poised...till he realized I was a car, and started to run. Then he looked like he didn't quite know where in space and time his knees and hoofs were.
If I tried to describe him as music, he was like an orchestra tuning up, all the parts are there, but the notes start and end in different places. Just like an orchestra tuning up, I could see through the dissonance, and knew how magnificent he will be. He was a wild kind of majesty.
He crossed the road, and used those impossibly long legs to step up out of the ditch and blended silently into the forest.