The air was filled with flying arrows and sharp rocks. Drops of blood fell on the mountain side, and many feathers fluttered down, but the brave eagle was soon out of their reach.
He did not stop until the cap was safe in the fairy queen’s lap.
There was great rejoicing among the fairies that day.
They had a feast in the eagle’s honor, and healed his wounds with fairy magic.
On the mountain side, wherever the blood and feathers fell, there sprang up trees with featherlike leaves and blood-red berries.
All the giants, fairies, plants and animals knew why they grew.
The unselfish love in the eagle’s blood could not die, but lived again in the beautiful trees.
But people who did not know how they came there, called them mountain ash trees.
