I am the master of the beasts wild and free. I run with the swift stag and soar as a sacred falcon against the shimmering sky. The ancient woods and wild places emanate my powers, and the birds of the air sing of my sanctity.
I am also the last harvest, offering up grain and fruits beneath the sickle of time so that all may be nourished. For without planting there can be no harvest, without winter, no spring.
Worship me as the thousand-named Sun of creation, the spirit of the horned stag in the wild, the endless harvest. See in the yearly cycle of festivals my birth, death and rebirth - and know that such is the destiny of all creation.
I am the spark of life, the radiant Sun, the giver of peace and rest, and I send my rays of blessings to warm the hearts and strengthen the minds of all.
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