The Heart of the Forest

The old fae looked up darkly and carried on.

"Somewhere in the forest is a pale, tall man. He weaves through the fields of trees like a spirit picking his way through a crowd of silent watchers, like a seamstress' silent needle feeling the path through the fabric, searching.

"I met him once, you know, when the world was young and the trees remembered our war. He was young then, newly-spurned by his lover and weighing the heart of the forest down with every heavy step. His face was as long as the old nights; his eyes like stars.

"They say he still walks, you know, still searches the lands for his lover, still shrouds the forest in its eternal night. He is tall; with limbs like the branches of a birch: you'll barely reach his knees, little gnome.

"Why do you seek him, princess; why do you seek him, daughter? No one finds the Wanderer and leaves the meeting untouched; his is the heart of the forest, with its little joys and long sorrows. I was young when I found him; I am old now.

"Now leave. We have spoken enough."