If you remember the stories they used to tell in the cold woods, then you'll remember the Old Forest Mage with his chocolate coat and his bone white horns. The Mountain Monarch, some called him, as he ruled from the high timbered hills and aspen groves down to the willow fringed swamps of the low moors. Villagers travelled from far and wide to bring gifts to the Monarch, to watch him in his measured walk and take from him the slow and steady wisdom that he imparted to those who could speak his language. He is ageless and at the same time, ancient. Perhaps you've seen him at some forest edge, standing peaceful and patient, with a thousand years of memories and wisdom, watching the moths dance on dandelions.