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"He roared, and with each shuddering breath to wrack His chest, Ghyran roared with Him. Its fury burned like the vast swathe of His thighs, its light a billion spites glittering in His antlered crown. Beneath this mantle, the whites of His eyes gleam with Ghyran’s wrath, utterly indifferent to all in His path, nature unbridled. He is our father, a hunter, sovereign of Kurnotheal and Consort King. We do not pray to Him but make worship with every spear cast, every arrow loosed, every bead of sweat and drop of blood and scream we spill on this holiest of days when spring breaks and His horn echoes between the trees, a calling none of us can ignore."