The hunter arose. "I will go," he said.

But wisdom detained him.

"Mark you well--who leaves these valleys never returns to them. Though he
should weep tears of blood seven days and nights upon the confines, he can
never put his foot across them. Left--they are left forever. Upon the
road which you would travel there is no reward offered. Who goes, goes
freely--for the great love that is in him. The work is his reward."

"I go" said the hunter; "but upon the mountains, tell me, which path shall
I take?"

"I am the child of The-Accumulated-Knowledge-of-Ages," said the man; "I can
walk only where many men have trodden. On these mountains few feet have
passed; each man strikes out a path for himself. He goes at his own peril:
my voice he hears no more. I may follow after him, but cannot go before
him."

Then Knowledge vanished.

And the hunter turned. He went to his cage, and with his hands broke down
the bars, and the jagged iron tore his flesh. It is sometimes easier to
build than to break.

One by one he took his plumed birds and let them fly. But when he came to
his dark-plumed bird he held it, and looked into its beautiful eyes, and
the bird uttered its low, deep cry--"Immortality!"