The wind has picked up a strange rumor, one that has existed longer than Ol' Dale's Pine. It sings wonderous descriptions of a figure roaming through thicket and brush, coated in an armor of rust. It searches about, marching from place to place. Some say its a cursed soldier of a forgotten war; others say that its a fairy playing tricks. Many have speculated- even our creature himself. Yes, even he does not know. Only the forest hushes his secret behind rotting bark. Only the birds sing his forgotten melody under thick rainfall."What do you remember?" says the wind."Ah, yes, I see golden hair like the sunset, and eyes dazzling like a fresh stream. I see a reason to continue my march. That is enough for me."