He lived on the mountain, amongst the black heather and lonely fog. The people of the valley would hear tales of his tree-like antlers, which must possess a strange sort of magic, and they could think of nothing but seeking him out. The capture would surely bring them fame and great wealth. But the grace of the good land had gifted the stag speed, he slipped away into the murky cloud escaping their snares and swooping arrows, grunting back a song of jubilant triumph to the empty-handed hunters.
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