Rannoch

Born with a mark in the depths of the wood.
Forced to flee because he was misunderstood.
Running from the truth that will set him free.
Saved my man and raised by thee.
A fawn to a stag he soon has become.
Anger rising like the days new sun.
Let free to roam and talk with beasts.
Saving the wolf, making the fighting cease.
Killing his foe he is lord of the herd.
Dieing of  old, his soul sores with Herne