The others parted before him with habitual respect, males in their fashion, females in theirs. Grace animated his powerful frame and ennobled his exquisite features.
The higher ones always paid him approving attention. Sometimes they stroked him, the music that issued from them growing warm and soft in approval. They brought him to mate with the best females, and fed him special delicacies. He was incapable of understanding his superiority, but he felt it.
They came one day out of the cold sharp sunshine, raising him up. Cooing, they carried him along. The others scattered in fear and respect as he rose and fell slightly in the higher one's embrace.
They placed him carefully on a pedestal, stroking him admiringly, humming and murmuring. Gently they laid his perfect head down. A streak of light drew his attention up, where the sun was eclipsed by the raised hand of the higher one, appearing as if its rays issued from it. He thrilled. He felt the crude beginnings of something like pride.
There, in the umbra within that crown of light, he saw the name, for a moment, the name stamped on the heel of the ax, before it disappeared in a flash of light and motion, as if it had been holding the sun itself back, the name that read: