From the records of Gawin of Greystone

I have recorded here for you collection a recounting of the tale of Fox and Stag from the northwest, in the region of Malekoss. It is a much retold story in the kingdoms of the area, who often employ either fox or stag iconography in both their heraldry and as tribute to the forest spirits themselves in the form of carving their likenesses into the trees.

The most talented of these carvers are highly paid and hold a high place in their kingdoms.

-Gawin

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In the days when the world was still whispering its first secrets, a vast forest spanned the earth, shrouded in mist. Within the creatures of the wood lived under the watchful eyes of the towering oaks, which themselves held life and memories of their own. Among these creatures were two beings, whose deeds would be carried onwards through time like the whisper of the wind through leaves.

Fox was a clever thing, quick of foot and learned in the arts of magic. He craved secrets above all else, and hoarded them like the forest holds leaves upon the bough. His den, hidden beneath the curling roots of an ancient oak, was filled with scrolls and trinkets, each a riddle to be gnawed upon at his leisure. Fox’s eyes gleamed with the thrill of hidden knowledge, and his days were spent in pursuit of truths buried deep within his texts.

Stag, noble and grand, roamed the glades and drank from the crystal streams that laced the forest floor. His antlers stretched skyward, and he was beautiful to behold. Stag was a guardian of the woods, his hooves silent on the leaf-strewn path, his presence a comforting shadow over the smaller beings. But as the seasons turned, a slow poison seeped into the land. The waters ran murky and the leaves curled black upon their branches. The forest was dying, choked by a darkness that crept through the soil.

Knowing the wisdom that Fox possessed, Stag ventured out into the winding paths beneath trees to find him. His journey was long, for Fox was elusive, his tracks as faint as the wisps of fog that danced between the trunks at dawn. Finally, beneath the oldest oak, Stag found Fox, his nose buried in an ancient tome.

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"Fox", Stag's voice rumbled like distant thunder, "the forest ails, its breath grows shallow and foul. You, who hold its secrets, must know the cure. Help me to heal our home."

Fox looked up, his sharp eyes narrowing, "Why should I part with my precious secrets, Stag? What will you offer me in return?"

"Ask what you will, Fox, but remember, even a creature of your magic cannot live in a forest of ash and shadow.", replied Stag, his gaze steady and unyielding.

Fox pondered, his tail flicking thoughtfully, "Very well, Stag. I seek a drop of Dawn's Light—the spark that woke the world from slumber. Bring me this light, and I will save the forest."

Stag nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of his duty. He traveled beyond the borders of the forest, through realms of green and white, over mountains that pierced the heavens and valleys drowned in eternal night. Time wore on, yet Stag's resolve never faltered.

Finally, at the world's edge, where the sun dips its golden feet into the sea, Stag found what Fox desired, cradled by the Horizon herself. With a plea for the life of his forest, Stag convinced Her to part with a single drop of the shimmering light, and he returned to Fox, the glow warm in his antlers.

Fox, seeing the light, knew Stag had succeeded in the impossible. True to his word, he used the spells inscribed within his scrolls. Whispering in tongues forgotten by time, Fox wove the light into the darkened soil of their forest. Slowly, the poison receded, the waters cleared, and life returned in bursts of green and blooms of color. Fox returned to his home beneath the oaks, Stag to his glade, both proud to have cleansed their home and preserved the forest.

Some say that both the Fox and Stag still remain within the forest, watching carefully until the next time they are needed, even as the years pass and seasons change, and all passes into memory.

For the forest always remembers, and the tale of the clever Fox and the noble Stag is told and retold, by every rustle of the leaves and every burble of the streams, if one is quiet and knows how to listen.