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Nywele lay in a soft path he had found. Day dreaming he stroked a paw gentle through his mane as the bird complained trying to keep the god's hair in place. What was Nywele thinking about? Hair...what else? He thought of the day when a pride might see him as the god he was. He aid them in every way to his power and they would all have manes to even....bah who would care for such a god. A god of manes...what could he give them. That's what the mortals thought....they were so blind....