Come closer, dear travelers, and warm yourselves by the embers. When the mist of the misty forests thickens and the shadows dance among the ancient trees, it feels good to share the light . Often I sit quietly in the dim corners of the Dark Tavern, the old sanctuary of our forest, and listen to the songs sung there.
These are exciting stories, whispered over a mug of hot mead.
You know, there’s a legend about me there. It says that on that fateful night, I outwitted the great white guardian of the North with a bardic trick. I wove a cunning web of words, tricked ancient magic, and mixed the ink for our destiny myself, to truly bind her to my spell. It is a flattering tale, and I often smile when I hear it. But beware, for it holds a danger for those who believe it. Whoever thinks they can conquer the eternal forest with cunning and treachery does not understand the heart of the misty woods. For the forest is ancient, wise, and cannot be blinded by a brilliant mind.
Let me tell you the true story today:
But it’s not about a clever bard who conquered nature. It’s about a moment when the world held its breath because two souls stopped fighting and simply existed . Do you know… That night, the fog lay heavy and damp over this fateful clearing.
But listen for yourselves, I have tuned my lute for you:
Please, stay a while and listen…
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The cold crept into my bones, and the small fire before me was my only solace in the vast, dark world. Whether my heart was heavy then with a silent, profound loneliness, I cannot say. But what I do know is that, as a being of two wor lds, born from the line of wolves and foxes, both tolerated and rejected, I was a stranger in my own land. For that , I truly knew how the forest breathes. I knew that his nature is an endless cycle, in which a life often remains a fleeting breath . That night, I had the feeling that my journey was coming to an end. Don’t ask me why, but I was n’t afraid. Fate will one day beat its dull drums, and all that remains is one’s own peace when the time for the great farewell has come.
And yes, I don’t know why, but I sensed that something was gliding through the forest on that dark night, majestic, inescapable, and older than the trees themselves. And following in its sublime shadow was a large white she-wolf, the guardian of the icy nights .
I knew she didn’t come out of malice, for the misty forest knows no cruelty for cruelty’s sake:
When winter comes, the leaves fall, and when the guardian hunts, she follows only the ancient call of the moon and the cool tent of the stars. And when a she-wolf hunts in the shadow of eternal night, well… I closed my eyes and waited to become one with the earth again. I knew she was there because the wind died down. Even the distant calls of the night birds fell silent, as if the entire forest were awestruck.
Then I saw her. And she saw me.
Just us. And silence.
Silently, softly as falling snow and as fluidly as water gliding over cool stones, a white paw stepped into the silvery glow of the bright moon. She didn’t burst from the undergrowth with a growl. She didn’t come as a ravenous beast. She simply stood at the edge of the clearing, bathed in an almost unreal light that made her white fur glow . She gently inclined her head. Her eyes met mine. Their eyes were like the coldest, purest glass ever frozen in winter’s frost . There was no anger, no judgment, no greed in their gaze. It was a look of such infinite, timeless vastness that I felt as if I were gazing at the night sky itself . She stood perfectly still, and her breath became white mist in the cool air between us. In her paws, at that moment, my fate rested .
She had come to complete what the forest demanded.
And yet, in those moments, I envisioned eternity, an eternity of choices. Would I be wise enough to bargain with her, to set conditions, or to defend my life with the cleverest words? Or would I rise and fight heroically, only to end up broken on the ground, but proud to have tried? No, the magic of that night would have been shattered. The Guardian of the North sees through every charade. She doesn’t look at you, she looks into you, the vanity of a heart, even before a word has been spoken. Had I outwitted her, I would have profaned the sacred, but it truly would have changed nothing that night.
And so… I made my choice before her, and my mind was empty of all pride .
I didn’t want to fight it, and I didn’t want to flee from it. In the face of this wild beauty of the forest, I felt nothing but profound, unreserved humility . And… I surrendered to the moment.
I lifted my old willow lute. My paws did not tremble as I touched the strings. I did not play it to weave a spell or cloud her mind. The melody that rose by that fire was no pact, no written contract. It was simply the purest, most honest truth of my soul . I offered her my life not as a demand, but as a blank, white sheet of paper.
I sang of the sublime silence, of the wandering guardian in the shadows, and of the peace that arises when one ceases to swim against the current of the world . It was a song not for me, but my final tribute for all those who will awaken tomorrow through my tribute. And as the notes of the lute mingled with the crackling of the embers, a miracle occurred, one that could not be grasped by reason or cunning.
A silent, cold grace from the moon descended from the endless canopy of heaven and bathed us both in its comforting, silvery light . It was as if the stars from infinity rested directly upon us, her and me, in this insignificant little clearing deep in a forest. And for a fleeting moment in eternity, the forest was no place for hunting.
The she-wolf stood there, motionless like a statue of snow and starlight. In her clear eyes, I saw how the melody touched her.
She listened. Silently. Attentively. For an eternity, the heart of the world seemed to stand still . In this melody, carried by the deepest respect, she found a peace that—I believe—she had never found before in her endless vigils over the icy forest .
She had every right to take me.
The eternal powers would not have been angry had she completed the eternal cycle . But she recognized in the silvery gaze of the stars that this was not the moment for an end. She sensed that the peace we had created in this cycle was too precious to break .
And then, with a gentleness that still fills me with awe, she made her choice. She subordinated her own wild nature to the stillness of that magical moment. Without a word, without a threat, she imprinted my face and my scent on her memory.
Then, as quietly as she had come, she withdrew into the darkness. A true queen, a free spirit, honoring the circle of fire and sparing it from bloodshed . The fire burned slowly down until only glowing ash remained in the dawn. I was still sitting there, lute on my knees, marked by an encounter that changed my life forever .
Therefore, my friends, I smile when I am called a cunning bard in the tavern.
The true magic of the Misty Forest cannot be bought. You cannot blind the Moon Queen’s powers with vanity or bind them to you with grand words. For it has always been true that he who approaches nature with deceit will find only coldness. I am not alive because I outwitted the Lady of the Forest. I am alive because I was willing to relinquish before her everything I thought I was.
Those who have the courage to show themselves to the world without armor, without lies, and without pride are sometimes granted by the wilderness the most wonderful of all treasures: a silent, infinite grace .
The fire warms us for this night, and my songs will accompany you .
Do not be afraid of the shadows out there – meet them with an honest heart, and perhaps one day a pair of eyes will look upon you, wise and calm like cool glass, offering you not the end, but a new beginning.
Your Fian🙂