Once upon a time there was a warrior named Sam. One night a son was born to him, with a face bright as the moon, big eyes and tiny hands. Only his hair was white, white as snow. In those days people feared white hair on a newborn, and Sam was afraid people would laugh at him. His heart trembled.
"I don't want this child," Sam said to himself. He carried the baby up the mountain, left him alone on a flat rock, and went back down. Mount Alborz was tall and silent. The baby stirred in his swaddling, cold, with no one to help him.
At the top of that mountain was a nest, and in it sat a very large bird. Her name was the Simorgh. Her feathers were the colour of sunlight, and she had lived up there for many years. She looked down from her height.
She saw something small on the rock, beat her wings and came lower. His tiny hands had turned white as snow, and his voice trembled like a leaf. The Simorgh opened her wing. "Come to me, little one."
Gently she lifted the baby and carried him up into the nest, which was warm and full of feathers. He stopped shivering and fell asleep. Her chicks gathered round to look at him. The Simorgh named him Zal.
Zal grew up playing with the Simorgh's chicks, jumping from rock to rock and running. He grew tall as a young tree, and his hair stayed white like the snow on the mountain. The Simorgh loved him dearly. Every night she opened her wing and said, "Come to me."
One day a sound came from the foot of the mountain: a shepherd's flute. "Whose sound is that?" asked Zal. "It belongs to the people," said the Simorgh. "You are one of them too." "Then why am I here?"
"Your father was afraid, and he left you here." Zal was quiet a little while. The Simorgh opened her wing. "It's all right. Come to me." Zal laughed and went under her wing. That night it snowed, and the nest was warm.
At the foot of the mountain, Sam dreamed every night of a child with white hair and woke each morning with a heavy heart. One day he saddled his horse and rode up. You know, grown-ups are sometimes afraid too. And sometimes they come back and put things right.
Sam reached the top, saw Zal, and stopped. "My son, will you forgive me?" Zal looked at him for a moment. Then he ran and hugged him. Sam held him tight and said nothing.
Zal turned back to the Simorgh. She plucked a feather from her wing and gave it to him. "Keep this. Whenever you need me, set it alight, and I will come that very moment." Zal put the feather in his pocket.
Zal and Sam came down the mountain, and the sound of the flute came closer and closer. The people of the village ran out to meet them. Sam held Zal's hand tightly. "His hair is like the snow on the mountain," someone said. Zal laughed.