It was already dark, and the moon looked gently down as Fian began his journey home.
To his own surprise, he found plenty to see in the twilight as he strolled along the forest path. What a strange evening…
For one thing, everything had taken much longer than he had expected. And somehow—though it felt very peculiar—yes… the white wolf could be very pleasant company at sunset. Admittedly, her humor—whenever she chose to reveal it—was quite particular and dry, but he was firmly convinced she possessed it! For a while, he had even forgotten why he had gone there in the first place, simply enjoying her presence.
And now, on the way back? The pale moon was quietly rising above the horizon, bathing the landscape in a silvery shimmer. He walked on, his beloved willow-wood lute securely strapped to his back and the nearly empty wicker basket resting lightly in his paws. As he strode along the path, cool evening mists began to rise from the moor, curling around his legs in delicate, ghostly wisps.
Fian paused for a moment and took a deep breath; he consciously drew the fresh, cool air deep into his lungs. He simply savored the sensation of it flowing through him, clear and cleansing.
Worthy bard, maybe, a German version?
Worthy traveler, maybe, the decission is not met right now.
He held the breath deep within him for a moment, then let it flow out slowly. Small white clouds formed before his nose, seeming to dance in the moonlight before dissolving into the night. And then, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he stopped and listened. *Yes…* he thought, *she is right.* There is an incredible peace to be found in simply listening. He looked up at the moon and thought he glimpsed a bat out of the corner of his eye, dancing high above in the silence of the night.
When he arrived home, the familiar walls offered a different kind of comfort. Carefully, he placed his lute in its usual corner and set the basket on the kitchen table, gazing at the two teacups that were still sitting there. With a soft sigh, he sat down and checked the bandages on his leg and paw; the dull ache was still there, yet—to his surprise—it seemed entirely insignificant. Afterward, he went to the sink and splashed cool water onto his face. As he reached for a towel and glanced into the small mirror, he paused. He realized he was smiling. Yes, it had been a strange, unpredictable evening, but also a truly beautiful one.
Looking at his own reflection, he noticed something peculiar: for a reason he couldn’t quite put into words, he simply liked her—the white wolf. He liked her exactly as she was. When Fian finally lay down in bed and pulled the covers up, something else happened: for the first time in many long days and weeks, he was not left alone in the darkness with his anxious thoughts.
No, in the quiet twilight that enveloped his mind, he saw her beautiful blue eyes gently guiding him into sleep.
