In the mist of time some villages are lost, some abandoned and some sinking in the mist.
Sunshine never reaches the huts, moon gaves a pale shining glow and no humans dare to go close as dusk comes and strange waves hit the shore.
Once I was drunken enough to make an insane bet with fellow villagers, at full moon day I will dare to go and see whats over there. I had amvbivalent feelings but behind the mask of pride I was scared and wished to turn back that stupid bet.
Yet I had to proove I am a man and off I went to the woods when the day came and full moon was expected. Shaking legs and senseless songs followed my route as I approached the old trees and looking back I was wondering, why are my friends looking so sad. They did not wave, nor smile or shout, I guess that they realized – there is no way out.
Il Silenzio – the silence is son of Death, sister of Mercy and brother of the Night. Near the lake of Liget you step over an invisible border, yet entering the realms of an ancient land but with slight hope returning where you belong. Lot of curious being tried to reach its soul but none with success – beautifull as it seems, but as dangerous as a lethal trap can be. The selected rare ones who returned will not tell you a thing, you would not belive them anyhow and no prooves can be seen, they came out empty handed but became the richest in their inside worlds.
Just a tale
Lived long time ago a hairy, black bearded gipsy.
His dwelling was near a river wild and he earned his living by catching fish and selling tobacco and other plant’s leaves raised on his small farm if you understand what I mean….
One day on his weekly route to the nearby village he met an old man on the road who weared rags, had an unlit cigarette in his mouth and was continously mourning behing his black teeth: kobold, kobolds where are thou? The gipsy tried to talk to him as the road was empty and he was bored. Hey old man, why are you looking for kobolds? Dont you know there is no such a thing on this land? Wanna instead a good ol’ joint?
But he did not receive a reply. They were in no rush so the gipsy patiently waited till this old man looked under each and every big root and into every dark hollow beside the road. Are you deaf? – asked him again. But still, the old man just mormoured and repeated his monologue – kobolds, kobolds where are you? So the gipsy stopped talking, was glad that anyway that he got a companion to the village.
As they arrived to the edge of Soedliget, children from nearby houses run out shouting, pointing at the old man not taking a glance towards the gipsy: “Look, look, the kobold of Old Wood, he came again, lets throw stones at him!” And so did the kids do, they threw small pebbles, stones and hit the old man.
“Kobold, kobold go away, dont bring danger to the place!” They cantated. The gipsy tried to scare away the children to protect the old man but they did not stop thrownig – he had to jump away before he was to be thrown also.
The old man was like nothing happened. He just looked up to the village and suddenly turned back to the woods where they came from and started to go towards the trees.
Once there was a man who lived with his family near the old woods. They lived right beside the Lake of Liget.
Somehow this man always had the feeling he was missing something. One evening when he was feeling sad, he looked upon the old wood and he thought he could hear something. He felt a silent call drawing him in. It’s no wonder he began to look after this strange voice and got the conviction that there are Kobolds living behind the trees and Mermaids in the lake. Day after day, he got up early and went out following the winding path but searching in vain.
Then the days turned to weeks, the weeks to years – always searching and calling to the owner of that voice: “ Kobolds, kobolds, where are you?”
Every day he searched he became more convinced he would find kobolds, fairies, or elves and they do exist – he just kept telling himself this as a kind of mantra.
He traveled this path for so long he greeted the roots and trees like friends. Soon he had a long and gray beard, his clothes had become weary and he needed a stick to walk safely. The kids from the village were afraid of him, his family alienated him but all this did not make him change his thoughts and he did not give up a tiny bit on his passion.
It was on this particular day, late autumn, it was cold and the sky was gray and it was approaching dusk that he noted something different.
He suddenly noticed how big the trees had become, how the roots have fattened and were nearly as big as his thighs, that he could easily crawl under rather than to climb over them. As the rain began to pour he looked for shelter and beside a mossy root he found a deep hollow. As he climbed in he mormoured “Just like Alice” and with a tired groan he took out his last cigarette, sat on the muddy ground, closed his eyes and shortly fall asleep.
He never woke up again nor was his body found.
The Dandelion Pixie
The Dandelion Pixie is one of the most nicest pixie with wings. Usually sensitive and selected children can meet them if the pixies allow it – but unfortunately quiet rarely as their numbers are greatly reduced. They hide whenever they can from our eyes. Adults are never able to catch a glimpse of these pixies, they can only just remember them from their own childhood’s memories when passing beside a dandelion field and when no anyone else is near. We cannot see them but they are watching us at these moments, and when we walk away, they come out again under the sun to sing and to dance.