Porcelain Child/The Mongoose

"Along he bounds wild as the wind, riding a great white deer. His hair is a mass of twigs and berries, his ears drip the frost of the winter morning's chill. Mothers hurry their children away, and the birds fall silent. He sees the order of the world retreat before him and sheds a tear of pure saphire. Wilting in his hand is an olive branch..." --Unknown