They say that deep in the mountains, when the mist clings to the peaks and the wind whistles through the fir trees, the dahu roams. Always leaning to the same side, it moves in silence, its uneven legs preventing it from stopping.
Some say they have heard its dragging footsteps behind them, a fleeting shadow among the rocks. But when they turn around… there is nothing.
They say that those who have seen it never had time to scream.
