Betsy's Tess and her Magical Family - Saga Kraft

Familiars

Betsy Bergstrom, Gabriela Sarna, Sea Gabriel: Saga Kraft — Wed, 21 Oct 2020 09:00:00 -0700

Welcome to saga craft myths, fairytales, legends stories, comfort us, inspire us and heal us. Please join us as we share stories both old and no more than anything. We're open to the story and it's unfolding at times. It may be one story told by one person at times it's the same story told through three different voices.

In the end, we go where the story takes us and we invite you to follow. I'm C a writer, artist, and storyteller. I'm Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions. I'm Gabriela, an artist and practitioner of folk magic. We are magical in training today. We'll be exploring the world of the familiar and this reality.

And another reality that's married to ours. The familiar, the fetch, the animal co Walker, and here are three different takes on that. I mean, it start. So this is my story. Tess's unfamiliar, familiar tests, sobbed quietly in her bed. The sounds muffled by her tear. Drenched quilt. Her scalp still smarted from the brisk and somewhat angry hair brushing that her mother had given her before tucking her under the covers and snapping off the light test.

This curly hair always seemed to take the brunt of her mother's anger or disapproval. When her footsteps proceeded down the stairs, tests, tears had begun. She wasn't crying about her hair, though. It did still hurt. What had happened earlier that day in the pet store was where her misery, because the worst part, it was that she had been so certain that the little Lafayette rabbit was the pet that she'd been looking for.

She'd been searching for a few years. Her mother had told her each time she fell head over heels in love with an animal, a tropical bird or a snake at the pet store that it was not appropriate for her. The way she said it with a tight lip look of disapproval made her own disappointment feels so much worse.

The pet store owner always looked at tests with a little worry line between his brows. When this happened, she knew, he felt sorry for her and would try to comfort her by letting her help with some of the small tasks of maintaining and caring for the animals. When tests was there by herself. He was very careful to be non-committal when tests would exclaim in rapture over a new arrival, we'll see when your mother comes, he would say kindly, he didn't want to make it any worse for the little girl.

He had his suspicions about her mother, but keeping out of people's business is what had kept him in business in this little town. As test as tears continue the memory of the soft and warm little rabbit body with the extra long ears began to fade her dreams of the rabbit, Hutch and basket filled with doll sized quilts for the bunny to snuggle and also faded.

Eventually as your tears slowed down, she heard the wind moving through the trees and the bare branches beginning to tap on her bedroom window tops that were very clear. Now that the leaves had all the dropped away, the clouds rushed past in a sky with a nearly full moon. Sometimes shading it, then revealing the moons, luminous or shape.

The branch tapping continue sometimes random, sometimes seeming to be in the pattern of a little song, sleep little one's sleep. She could almost hear the wind singing to her sleep. Sweethearted girl you're waiting is almost over sleep. Little one's sleep. The tapping the wind. They almost heard some load tests into a comfortable drowsiness and then into a dream that began with her wanting to rise up out of her bed and open the window without fear or concern.

She did this as though it was entirely natural at the open window. The cool air and windy night prompted her to put on her Willie robe and slippers. She climbed up onto the windows, so leaned out and then fell. For just a moment then to her delight, she caught the wind and with her rope, billowing, just a little, she began to glide as light as this'll down into the night.

A tiny part of her knew she was dreaming. The rest of her was in the adventure that this dream offered her, escaping her room and it's layers of loneliness. Taking one last look at where she had been at the house with a gabled roof and the few lights still shining in the windows. She turned and looked resolutely forward.

She felt free. The wind carried her for some time until she found herself in one of the clouds scuttling across the face of the moon. She felt the damp Misty cloud all around her as the wind began, twirling her in a big and slowly descending spiral. Widdershins she thought somewhat giggling. She landed and felt both soft earth and rock beneath her.

She could see that she was somewhere she had never been before the moon. Now glowing silver revealed that there was no little town and no lights at all. Shining in the Erie moonlit landscape. A small mountain was before her trees were all around and the little winding paths, Shaun in the Moonlight, she walked along the path, trying to walk as quietly as she could in her slippers.

She could feel that she was not alone. A hooting from a nearby tree, caused her a stumble and a quick turn to see a great owl looking at her on a branch, above her owl, Bob to one side. And then the other regarding her test felt the owl was satisfied by what it saw when it left its perch on the tree and glided on the path ahead, test followed zigged and zagged, and she heard it to keep up and to keep the owl in that Al abruptly swerved to one side of the path and dove into the trees, tests, instinctively followed.

She was glad she did for as soon as she caught her breath after the dash, along the path, she could hear footsteps in the night and voices talking as they came closer, she could hear the separate voices of those speaking. One shrill, one gruff, and one whining. I don't want to go in there. Set the whining voice.

It's past time that you pulled your own weights and the growth voice you have to, we have to, and you're old enough, listen to your father said the show voice it's so dark in there so that the whining voice test could hear the sound of a small rock being kicked roughly off the path. You have to go into the dark to get your eyes used to it.

Set the gruff voice. You'll be able to see soon enough. We want to find out if you have any of the gifts, that will be a big help to us. If you do think about, if you can see gold veins said the shrill voice, think what lovely things we can get. If you do that, even silver would be good. Seeing any orders would be good, Southern gruff voice.

What kind of things could I get? So the whining voice, the first sounds of eagerness now, audible in his tone. Tests could see through the shrubs that it was a he, but, uh, he, what she wasn't sure the three were not much bigger than she and carrying pickaxes slung over their small, but burly shoulders. One was clearly an older male, one, some kind of a younger female, but the smallest with a whiny voice was clearly the youngest and a boy, the moon, which had been clouded a bit now bloomed clear as the odd trio pasture.

She crouched lower in fright. As she saw there, oddly shaped heads, glowing animal like eyes, and that the ones speaking have very sharp and pointed teeth, she could have sworn that they were greenish in color or were the gray. It was hard to tell. She was very sure that she didn't want them to see her.

She hoped fervently that they did not have an extra sharp sense of smell along with an ability to see in the dark. Just when she feared that they would see her in the Moonlight, in her green rope, a small sound came from behind them came a plaintiff cry.

Damn that cat. So the gruff one, I told you to put it away for the night. He didn't have time wine. The boy. The boy turned and gave the small forum trotting behind him, attempting to nuzzle his knee, a sharp kick that made the animal fly backwards in the night with a whale of distress, it tumbled into the bushes test, nearly leaped out onto the path to go to the cat's aid.

But the fury in the female's eyes glaring at the small boys stopped her cold. She crouched down lowers sending out warm thoughts to the cat. And hoping that this trio whom she was beginning to suspect were goblins would pass her by the older male cuff, the goblin boy on the side of the head and dragged him forward on the path.

The boy rubbing his ear cried. I probably can't see nothing now. Thanks to being hit so hard. You'll see. All right, set the show voice. We just have to get you into the mind. Something might eat my cat wine. The boy. Serves it right. Set the gruff boys. No, thanks to you to test as relief. The strange trior disappeared around a bend in the path she waited until she could no longer hear their arguing voices before she crept cautiously out of the bushes.

Whereas before she'd been able to hear a little piteous mewling from the animal. Now she could hear nothing. She went back along the path and its direction and stopped a little distance from where she thought it was. I'm so sorry that you were kicked and that you are now left behind. I'll help you poor little thing.

And it sounded young, but looked a little bigger than that. She kept talking softly to it, but our glided overhead landing in a nearby tree. You're not helping. She scalded the owl. The cat will be afraid of you. That I will seem to make a sound that was close to her. She heard it was a small and cautious sound.

She moved in that direction and there in the bushes, she saw two slanting green eyes looking up at her. Very LAR you beauty. She breathed. She extended her hand slowly. Like the pet store man had taught her the cat coward and lowered his body closer to the earth. Okay. She crooned, it raised its head. She knows to pick up the cat as she felt.

It's been little body it's bony ribs, something melted in her heart. The carrots stared into her eyes. And it seemed like an asked her a question. Oh yes. She said, yes, the cat stood up. So its body was small. Like a young cat, its legs were the longest that she had ever seen almost twice as long as they should be.

Oh dear. You're a goblin cat. She braid. The cat bleeps slowly out her, nevermind. I'm taking you home with me. You like that? She asked, I blinked again and made a little jumping into her arms. She wrapped up, sit up warmly in the front of her bro. Set her shoulders in a resonant fashion. I have the feeling that most there is going to have to accept you.

Checon cited. The owl solidly watching her. And bobbed from side to side, as if committing the side of her with this cat to its memory, it launched itself off the tree and began to fly along the path back in the original direction from which they had come. She jogged along behind the cat may have little mewing sounds from time to time and then became them in her arms, falling asleep.

She began to feel sleepy as well, even though she was moving as fast as she dared, she could feel intense drowsiness coming over her. Maybe we can just rest a little. She thought once I see the owl on the path for some distance, and that was her last thought before she fell asleep, she woke with morning sun coming in the window.

She felt tired and a little sore in her body. She was just starting to think what a funny dream. When she heard a soft rumble and felt a weight along her leg, she sat up startling, the dark gray and black Brindle creature on the covers standing on absurdly long legs. And he seemed it wasn't looking at her, but beyond her to the door where her mother stood a mug of weak Milky tea in hand.

The cat stared at her mother and her mother stared back the cat's whiskers, bunched up as it showed long sharp teeth, a slow smile began to grow on her. Mother's face. I told you that we'd know it when we saw it, but I never imagined that you're familiar with look like this. She said with a shaky laugh, putting the tea down on the bedside table.

She came closer and sat on the bed, not looming over the girl and crouching cat, but gentling herself down beside them, both the cat glared then turned it and began to look it's extraordinary. Front leg. Welcome Kat. She said formally to the creature of the state assume you're a cat. This is your new home to her daughter with a look of pride and love in her eyes.

She said, Tell me everything from the beginning.

My story is about the Ben and Donte nine months before I was born the village Sierra Sophia dreamt of me coming into the world. My grandfather used to tell me that all people are born with precious gifts, which are needed in order for communities to thrive. Some of these gifts are visible, practical, and useful in life.

Like a trade or ability to do something really well, just like your father or mother did before. Other people are born with different kinds of gifts, which are closer to the other invisible world and it's magic, but also very important to the physical wellbeing of the waking world. People who could see the future heal and talk with the spirits were the holders of these other gifts.

Which were also passed down to them from their fathers and mothers who came before. The woman who dreamt of me was one of those people. And she told my parents about my arrival and the gift that has not been seen for many years. By the time I was born, our view of reality had held only a trace of some of the invisible gifts that came from the other world and time when people be since spirits lift together, The gifts that were now openly cherished and recognized were those useful and visible ones like being a tailor, a cobbler or a beekeeper, the other gifts though, still recognized by some people kept quiet about not wanting everybody to know, especially not those who have turned their hearts against magic because of the fewer and fewer people were born with the unseen gifts or maybe.

If the gifts were there, they were hidden, kept secret. The night's Sophia, the, or dreamt of me was a night of a great storm rain winds, and lightning rattled. Our village into nobody slept a wink, Sophia rushed over to my parents' house so she could share the vision from her dream. She didn't know how my family would receive the news, but it was her duty to tell them she arrived at their cottage drenched in rain, shivering under her thick cloak.

Then on Donte, she whispered while holding my mother's hand and reaching out to touch her belly, my mother gasped, she was brought up remembering the old ways and knew what this word meant. An undone auntie good Walker was a person of great, magical power who could fly in their dreams, riding with animal companions, to battle malevolent forces that try to interfere with good weather and with the fertility of the land.

Nobody has heard of the Ben and Donte for many, many years, nobody living could even remember one only stories were left at this time. My father wanted to hear none of this. He was a good church going man, and didn't want this kind of attention or curse on his family. He forbade my mother to speak of this, to anybody and threw Lucia out into the rain, calling her a heretic.

And those days words were powerful and dangerous. And even if you spoke of certain things or were accused of something without cause forever, your family had to live with the burden of such a name. Sophia tried to explain to him then good walkers were a huge blessing to the community that they could negotiate the weather for the entire village to ensure good crops that will last years and years, but he refused to listen.

He acted boast, unusually that night for he was a gentle and kind man. He made my mother promise that she would keep quiet and ridiculed her for believing such nonsense. Nine months later was born. There was a great storm that night, thunder and rain rattled. My parents smoke cottage, my grandma, mother, and great aunt attended to my mother's labor into the early morning hours, a Dawn, the sky cleared my mother's labor ended and I ordered my first freaking cry.

My night travels are the first memories I have. I remember flying in my sleep and an invisible world above our own while being surrounded by beasts and creatures, I would awaken in a sweat most nights, startled and bewildered to when my mother would come to wake me from a restless turning in my cradle.

She told me I never cried though. When she would wake me, not the way other children cry with night terrors. But I would stare at her intently, unable to share what I had seen in the other world since I was not able to talk. Not yet. When I was six, I told my parents about one of my night Grames. I'd finally had the words to describe it.

My father became furious with an anger I've never seen in him before fueled with rage and fear. He forbade me to ever speak of me, dreams out loud again. A great storm had gathered above us that night, dark and terrifying, like the power should summit to bind me from talking about my night adventures. I know his true desire was to keep me from night writing, but that was a power.

Nobody could stop the closest to it was him keeping quiet, which he succeeded on when he bound my tongue for, I didn't speak at all after that night. Seeing what his rage had done to me and torn by grief. My father fell into a deep sleep from which no one could wake him a dark cloud hovered in the sky.

And a great drought came to our village shortly after I spoke of my first night, writing farmers feared the worst and the end of the hot summer lack of rain could cause a devastating loss of crop and likely famine people went to the closest church and offered what few coins they had to petition for rain.

They prayed on saying and worked in the fields harder than ever, but no rain came. My father continued to sleep, which seemed to be devouring, something inside him for, he appeared to be withering away day by day. As I watched silently beside my mother who up day and night, this was a dark time for us all and I couldn't help, but I feel that I had brought it all on that.

I was to blame. My grandmother begged the old Sierra Sophia to please come and look into the other world to find a remedy. The woman though treated badly by my father. Didn't hesitate to come out to our aid, seeing my father in his state and me bound by guilt and silence. She embraced me and whispered in my ears as I covered her cloak and my tears.

Dear one, do not weep and do not fear your gift. It is not too late. But you must ride on your beast farm to this battle. You must choose a writer tonight, commit to her, and she will show you all. You need to know. She will take you to the white stag and remember your father is not who he seems. And by all means he must be saved.

The writer Sophia spoke of where the many beasts I would see during my night journeys. Sometimes I would fly by myself, but I was still small, so I couldn't fly as fast, or as far as some of the other creatures, remembering Sophia's words upon falling asleep, I had gathered all of my intentions and strength and focus them into the thick clouds and movements I was entering in the dream world.

This was the first time I had ever felt so aware and conscious in my dream. Usually I let the adventure take me and I would drift in and out of awareness. And it would be more of an observer in my travels this time, everything was different. The clouds were darker, faster, more creatures and beasts were present.

Some with weapons I've never seen before tonight was like a real battle. And I felt nowhere near ready, but I knew I had to be a great bear, flew, close and glared at me intently who comes here. I didn't back away. I held my gaze. I have come from my writer. I said, But here, I still had a voice. The bear flew aside and then a Wolf came, who comes here.

I have come from my writer. I answered, he...

Elves

Betsy Bergstrom, Gabriela Sarna, Sea Gabriel: Saga Kraft — Wed, 30 Dec 2020 12:00:00 -0700

Sea: Welcome to Saga Kraft. Myths, fairytales, legends. Stories comfort us, inspire us, and heal us. Please join us as we share stories both old and new. More than anything, we are open to the story and it's unfolding. At times it may be one story told by one person. At times it's the same story told through three different voices. In the end, we go where the story takes us, and we invite you to follow.

I'm Sea a writer, artist, and storyteller.

Betsy: I'm Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions.

Gabriela: I'm Gabriella, an artist and practitioner of folk magic.

Saga Kraft: We are magical fairy godmothers in training.

Betsy: Our stories today are about elves and elf land. We hope you enjoy them.

Sea: I will go if it's okay.

Once upon a time, there was an elf who wanted to fly and every night he would dream of soaring through the air. One morning, after such a dream, he was brushing his teeth and just out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a horrible blackness rotting away at his teeth in the back.

He jumped up and gasped, first choking on then spitting his toothpaste. After rinsing out his mouth and changing his shirt he went to see his grandparent, as one never knows the gender of the elves in his family until one sees him or her, since they change it. Well today he was a grandfather. The elf told him what happened.

"Not to worry," the grandfather said "it was a waking dream. They happen to the best of us."

So the next day the elf had his teeth cleaned and everything was fine. But, a while later, the elf was looking into the mirror again when he thought he saw a king galloping up behind him. To be clear, the king himself was not galloping. The horse he was riding on was. In any event, the elf went running to his neighbor and excitedly told her about it. "What a nice dream!" The neighbor exclaimed, and called to some friends passing by. She told them all about the elves vision of a King coming through town. They laughed and cajoled. Someone brought a cake and they all told tales of the beautiful things they wished would happen, and on the way home, the elf made a game of walking through the fresh hoof prints that led through town, laughing at himself because he actually thought he might see a king .

And one season turned into the next before the elf was fixing his hair, when he saw a golden pen in the mirror. He recognized it as the prize at the elvin poetry contest. He was so excited that he immediately went running to his grandparents' house. "Grandmother!" He said to the old elf who was feeling feminine, but then stopped. "I hope you are doing well today. I just wanted to thank you for the other day. My teeth are great."

" That's wonderful, but did you really come all that way to tell me that?" The old elf asked.

"I just thought it would be nice to see you" the young elf said, as he scurried home to write a few poems, which he immediately entered into the contest.

On the day of the poetry reading the elf stared deeply into the mirror, hoping to see the golden pen, but nothing appeared. He went to the contes ,and, when it was his turn, hesitantly took the stage. He read his poem about flying and falling and flying again. In the end, he probably took first place, but writing poems about flying wasn't the same as actually doing it.

The next day, the elf looked into the mirror and searched out of the corner of his eye for an image of flight. He tried jumping up, suddenly and erratically twisting in the air, attempting to create a flight like image. When it wasn't working, he tried flicking his hair back and forth to see if he could create a flying scene with that.

No luck. Finally, in desperation, he drew a picture of flight onto the mirror itself. Then he went into his craft area and began to sew himself a set of wings. He had to make them perfect. Both potentially wind altering, he billowed the fabric in the air to test this ,and beautiful. He drew intricate lacy feathers on the wings.

When he finally had them perfected, he crept into the forest telling no one. There, he climbed up onto a large boulder. He avoided the cliffs as he was not a fool, and gently put them on. He looked like a blow up of a normal bird on a reasonable sized stone, only huge. Thinking of the mirror and psyching himself up into his most bird likes state of mind, he took a flight inducing leap off the rock and plummeted into the soft dirt and leaves below, significantly muddying his beautiful new wings.

Bitterly, he returned home and began to scream at his mirror.

"I did everything!" He said." Everything I could to fly!"

but as he was yelling, a bird flew by his window and cast a shadow onto the top of the mirror. Straightening himself up, he smiled and went to work.

The earth took a trip and a half around the sun before he tested passed, and earned his elven pilot license.

Gabriela: Thank you, Sea. That was absolutely lovely.

Sea: Thank you.

Gabriela: I'm very curious about the teeth.

Sea: About the teeth?

Gabriela: About the teeth. What were the teeth? Or his illusion of the teeth? Something that was a place setting for a different shift in reality for him? I don't know. It just really struck me, like, the teeth scared me because there's such an entrance into communication, or into that sort of other worldliness. Or losing something of this world to gain something of another.

Sea: I think that you're right. So, to be honest, this is the first time I am thinking about the teeth, but I absolutely think you're right. To me, the teeth mean, you know, to sink one's teeth into something or to be willing to defend and protect. And yeah, I think the teeth were a call for him to show up to something that was calling out to him.

Betsy: I was struck by him seeing the darkness in the mirror around the teeth, too. And then just seeing that that became a mirror that allowed him to get information or to perceive something. And so, was he seeing that mirror as kind of a magic mirror that gave him direction?

Sea: Yes, he was, he was seeing it as a magic mirror. And in fact, I had that line in it and I read it differently.

Betsy: The gender changing aspects of the elves too, and that type of fluidity, that could be part of their transformational abilities.

Sea: Yeah. Strangely on the transformative note, I was so aware that it was not my voice. I was so aware that the voice I was speaking in was so not my own voice.

Gabriela: Yeah, to me, the whole story, it was so beautifully written and it felt like such a riddle. Like, it felt from beginning to end that this process that the elf was going through and the earning, the yearning to fly, you know, and I caught myself thinking, are elves, supposed to fly? Can they fly? Why does he want to fly? You know, it was so multilayered and I realized that so much lore, and just the nature of elves, is about magic and being able to manifest anything out of nothing. So he was trying to do something that has already been done. Because him yearning for it, if we're thinking in elf language and magic language, flight has already happened, he was already able to do it.

Sea: Right. Yeah, I liked that he had to sort of tell the story of it before he could actually begin to encounter it, too.

Betsy: And also gaining that confidence in seeing that he could enter that contest and win the contest, I think possibly built his confidence into, you know, that step by step of what it takes to actually transform and change. Not only our capabilities, but what we think is really possible too. So, that was a lovely touch.

Sea: Yeah, both in the story and at least in my life, it feels like the, the middle things are off topic. Like I want this thing and then I'd have to go do these weird things. And then I get that thing I wanted. And it feels like it was a total different journey, but still a necessary one.

Gabriela: I have to say, I secretly appreciate the fact that he had to brush his teeth.

Sea: There just aren't enough tooth brushing stories, right?

Gabriela: It certainly brings the magic into our world. And we try to separate our mundane from the non mundane realities, but it is all together. It exists together. So I appreciate that very much.

Betsy: Well and it helps us to understand more things about elves, that they have some of the similar things that we have in life, that they must deal with. But what else is possible? Flight, apparently. Thank you.

Sea: Next step?

Betsy: I'll do it. My story about the elves is a continuation also of a story about Tess and the goblin cat.

Tess and the goblin cat were settling in together. She was still finding it hard to discover the true name of the cat. She called it a different name every few days. She had received a lot of advice from her relatives about the cat. The first advice was to find out whether it was male or female. The next, was to give it some time to discover its temperament. It's temperament didn't change much though. It was devoted to her, suspicious of her mother, and seemed to watch everything with the cynical air.

It wasn't going to let anyone but Tess touch it. Tess supposed that may have been the result of living with goblins for the first weeks of its life, and tried to make up to the cat for that.

"Oh cat, I wish the goblin boy hadn't kicked you so hard."

Then there was the problem of its long leggedness, that had necessitated a visit to her great aunt Hulda. Hulda, an aged, bent, crone of a lady, with sharp but faded blue eyes, had laughed one loud "HAHA" when she saw the cat.

" I haven't seen one of these since I was a child."

She touched cat on the head with a gnarled finger, pulling it onto her aprons lap. To Tess's surprise, the cat went limp, curling in her lap and purring.

"I'll work on its size and legs" Hulda said, while stroking the cat. "Gudrun is in the kitchen making tea, Gudrun!" She called

Tess's relative Gudrun came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a nearly identical apron. Her hair was in platinum braids. Her eyes a violet blue and her cheeks rosy. Her smile lit up the room.

" Come into the kitchen and have tea and let Hulda do her work."

Her accent was Scandinavian and lilting. Tess followed her into the kitchen.

"Sit down and eat" said Gudrun, " I will join you. Your mother will assist Hulda.".

She sat Tess down in the window embrasure seat and the two girls drank tea and ate sublime pastries. Tess could feel herself relaxing and realizing the weeks with Cat had been wonderful. To finally have a familiar, after looking for it for years, but stressful because the cat was not usual in any sort of way.

"What do you suppose she's doing to it?" Tess asked Gudrun.

"She's concealing its appearance so it can pass for normal." Gudrun said matter of factly. "Shape-shifting is a gift."

" Oh, I'd love to watch that."

" She won't let you. Your presence would pull the cat's awareness to you. Best to let them do their work in peace. Drink, eat," She said with Icelandic persistence " then I will tell you a story. Hulda says I'm to practice my storytelling with you."

"I'd love that!" Tess was fascinated by her older cousin.

"Good, would you rather hear about the trolls of stickies, or Hildr the queen of the elves?"

"Hildr, please."

"All right. A long time ago in a part of Iceland, that was part pasture and part mountains, lived an unmarried farmer named Lars. He had quite a few workers to help with the farm, and they were all cared for by a young woman named Hildr, who was quiet, fastidious and hardworking. She kept to herself and worked from dawn long into the evening.

Though a prosperous farm, Lars had a hard time keeping herdsman for his sheep because, for the past years, on each Christmas morning, his herdsman would be found dead in his bed, having died in the night. The farmer and other workers would spend Christmas Eve at the local church as was the custom. The herdsman would not attend because gathering the sheep took so much time in the early dark of the afternoon that the herdsman would have to stay at the house. Hildr also refrained from going to the church. She had to make the food for Christmas day dinner, when everyone returned.

For a time, the farmer tried to manage without a herdsman, losing sheep and income, but at least not losing any more human lives. The herdsmen had all died without a mark on them, so no suspicion fell on anyone at the farm. It was a troubling situation and a dark blot on the farm.

Then a day came when a man came knocking, asking for the job of herdsman. He was strong, bold, somewhat handsome, and quite full of self-confidence. The farmer didn't want to hire him and told him why. The man said he wasn't afraid, and he needed the job and a place to live. The man added that fear of what might happen wouldn't interfere with him doing his job and he would take good care of the sheep. Reluctantly, the farmer hired him, which was an answer to the man's urgent prayer and need, for he had skills, but nowhere to live and needed the work. He was a hard worker that everyone came to like, and the farm began to feel almost like normal.

Then the days before Christmas came. The farmer told the man he could come to church with them and let the sheep fend for themselves in the night. The man declined, saying he wasn't afraid and would do his job. The party of workers and the farmer left in the daylight hours to get to the church for the all night Christmas Eve vigil. The farmer left with a heavy heart fearing, the worst.

Hildr, finishing her preparations for tomorrow's dinner, fed the man his supper, who went right to bed afterwards. The man was tired, but he knew he could only sleep lightly as he remembered what had happened to all those other herdsman who had been as desperate as he for work. He resolved to stay awake, but found a strange drowsiness coming over him. Fighting this worrying sleepiness, he resolved to stay awake.

He was half dozing when he heard the door to his room open and quiet steps coming towards his bed, he saw through the dark of the room that it was Hildr. Her small warm hand touched his face, inserting something into his mouth, which he instinctively knew was a magic bridle. With the bridal attached, he was powerless to resist as Hildr dragged him from the bed to the front door and out into the snowy night. She climbed onto his back and, twitching the rein, she caused him to rise into the air and rode him through the dark winter night under the stars, under the snow, until they came to a high mountain which had a yawning cavernous opening.

She dismounted, tied the reins to the rock, and leaped into the opening. The herdsman tried to move, not wanting to stay tied out in the cold of the night. He couldn't move at all , until he finally struggled three from the bridle. When he leaped into the cavern opening following Hildr, he found himself falling, falling, falling into another world, and eventually landing in a landscape unlike the snowy one he had left behind. Green meadows with flowers were all around him.

He saw Hildr moving swiftly in a direction and he followed as fast as he could. He knew now she was not an ordinary mortal and, for protection, he pulled a magic star stone from his pouch given to him by his grandmother long ago. The stone kept him invisible and he followed Hildr until he could see a lovely building in the distance with a great crowd of people waiting in front. Hildr made her way there, straight into the arms of a man who seemed to be the king of this place. Two small children were there with him. Hildr, her face glowing, smiling with happiness, scooped up the children, holding them close to her heart.

The whole crowd swept in through the gates of the building and made their way to the banqueting hall where a vast feast was laid out. The festivities, which had nothing to do with Christmas, commenced, with music and speeches of welcome, when Hildr entered, now dressed in silks and golden jewels. This great welcome was for Hildr, ,their queen, able to be home for this one night only.

She sat on the high seat with her husband and presided over the feast. Everyone was happy to see her except one. This one sat like a dark toad in the corner glaring at her. The banquet continued merrily. The herdsman, invisible thanks to his magic stone, stayed hidden under the table in front of the high seat. He was trying to take in everything at once, determined to survive this night and not knowing where danger lay. Though longing to taste the food and drink, he held back. At one point, the two children growing tired, began to fret, and Hildr took off her rings and bangles and let the smaller child play with their golden jingling beauty.

One ring fell to the floor and the herdsman quickly scooped it up into his pouch. The children and the servants looked for it, but to no avail. The herdsman remained undetected. Hours passed this way, and then suddenly Hildr hugged her family, said goodbye to the throngs of people and swiftly left the home.

The herdsman hurried out, passing her as she was saying her goodbyes. Just before she'd change back into her ordinary clothes, he was able to hurry across the meadows and up the sides of the cavern with the help of his magic ring and thus was waiting, bridle on, when Hildr came. She mounted him, riding him back to the farm, where Hildr placed him back in bed, removing the bridle and retiring to her own chamber.

The man slept. The next morning, the farmer came home, expecting the herdsmen to be dead. He was amazed to find the man still sleeping, still breathing and praise god for his deliverance. At length, the man woke and the farmer asked him if anything untoward had happened.

The herdsman said " Well, I had a strange dream."

And he told the farmer what had happened with Hildr, and the people that he now knew where elves. All of the residents of the farmstead were gathered around this sitting, including Hildr.

At the end of his story Hildr said hotly, "I declare you a liar. I will only believe you if you can prove it as true."

The man, not in the least fearful of her, picked up his pouch from the pile of discarded clothes and pulled out the golden ring.

" I pick this ring up from the floor when your child dropped it at the banquet, don't you recognize it, Queen Hilder?"

" It is my ring. Thank you. You have broken the spell put on me by my husband's horrid mother. May you prosper all the days of your life. You have released me from the awful yoke of murder, which was the only way that I could spend one day a year with my husband and children. I was cursed that...

Wild Hunt

Betsy Bergstrom, Gabriela Sarna, Sea Gabriel: Saga Kraft — Wed, 18 Nov 2020 09:00:00 -0700

Welcome to Saga Kraft: myths, fairytales, legends stories, comfort us, inspire us and heal us. Please join us. As we share stories, both old and new, more than anything, we are open to the story and it's unfolding at times. It may be one story told by one person at times it's the same story told through three different voices.

In the end, we go where the story takes us and we invite you to follow. I'm C a writer, artist, and storyteller. I'm Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions. I'm Gabriella, an artist and practitioner of folk magic. We are magical fairy godmothers in training today, we will be sharing stories about the wild hunt.

And all the magic and wildness and blessing that comes with those times. And the adventures, fires first lit for grandfathers. Feasts are still burning. They burned for a long time and these parts, not just for the one even into morning, but for the many nights that follow after. The days are short and the nights are long and getting longer yet heading into the deepest autumn, the autumn that strips the trees bare and freezes the ground solid and closed.

Preparing for winter, many souls and spirits wonder in this cold landscape and howling winds finding their way home through the thin veils of the dark season, finding their way towards their loved ones.

Those offerings and feasts are not for me. They're not for me. No feast can fill my hunger or quench my thirst. No, honey can sweeten the bitterness that burns me songs and prayers can be heard. Messages revealed between the living and the dead, a sacred time that living lean softly to hear the whispers and blessings of their loved ones.

What omens, what was done? What do they bring for the coming year? The songs they sing or not? For me, they're not for me. And no one wants to hear my cries, my house or my rage. I am the keeper of the place where the unwanted go, the banished, the wicked and the wild here they come. And I contain them. Keep them still keep them quiet and far away from the living and from the fires until this time comes when the earth stirs and a wins world.

And I can no longer keep from howling, a thousand cries and the cold wind blows from all sides. There's nowhere to run, no place to hide. This wind might find me after all, take me over, push me further out. I will be free at last free at last. But I will not go into the night. I have my rage. I have my thousand cries.

I will not be banished. I must keep guard. Ah, here they come. Hundreds of writers and to beasts and ghouls by ground and by air, they ride so many faces, flared, nostrils, and fierce eyes, tumbling and crying like one being onward and forward the ride unstoppable on confined. Oh, how wonderful it would be to ride with them to whirl and fly, to be free, to be undone.

But I cannot, I cannot ride. I must remain. I must guard. I have my rage. I have my thousand cries. It is my duty. And Diane bound, the black writer arrives. I meet his eyes. Your time has come guardian. You must ride. But I cannot for, I am bound and I hold a thousand cries. Give me your cries. He demands. I give him one and onward.

He rides the red rider arrives. I meet his eyes. Your time has come guardian. You must ride. I still cannot fry him bound. And with the rage of a thousand, I, how give me a rage. He demands. I give him one. And onward. He rides the white writer arrives. I dare not meet his eyes. He cannot see me. I must hide, but he can see all and there's nowhere to go, no place to hide.

And I still hold the thousand cries inside. I've come for you, guardian. Your time is now another rider comes to take your place to keep the edge, to keep the banished and the wicked and the wild. I cannot leave. I cannot ride. I have a thousand howling voices inside a thousand rages and a thousand cries.

Those are not yours. Those are no mine. I have come for them. So you can ride your time has come white writer go forth and ride. It is my turn to guard the land at this time. And so I ride. I take the thousand house with me and the cries I dissolve with the wind as do the cries and the rage. And we howl with such vigor, such force and joy that nobody will be left behind.

Noah will wander. No one will be bound free at last free. At last we are undone. We ride. I love that. That was so powerful. Thank you. It was fun to write. I loved that. What felt to me like dichotomous nature, the first lack, and then the, the engagement rather belonging in a totally different way. It's nature was a big part of it, nature and time.

And that everything belongs in the right order, even if it's part of disorder and chaos.

For those spirits and those souls. Yes. Until the new ones start coming. New elements that have been cast aside are sent off to that place far, far away, wherever that may be. I loved all the descriptions. I always love all your descriptions. Thank you for me. The dedication and it too. I mean, just the acceptance of what was.

And the adherence to some kind of code or some kind of an agreement and the necessity of having beings, people of some sort who will do those jobs, who will do that intense work and a lovely, very vigorous portrayal of the hunt itself too. That's great. They like the release, not just of those who are fully gone, but the idea that parts of ourselves could be offered up and can be released with that as well.

And the demonstration of how to let go and the reassurance that when we let go of something, it is in fact carried on and repurposed. And it makes me think too, of what happens when people are dying, that the things that they've been carrying often pass on to the living, and to know that there's some recourse for those who've inherited these kinds of rages or emotions or feelings.

And to know that they too can move on and be taken at certain times of the year, intense and uplifting. Thank you both for listening and having such beautiful things to say, I'm quite fond of some of these words in here. I might even incorporate them into something else because I do feel like the words came from this code and from this place of lung and wanting to be released.

And also knowing that once they've come to the edge, they're the only ones holding it back. And the trust that whatever's after can sustain it can sustain the edge when they're the last one standing. And that was the reason why they're still standing. And I like that when this voice first started coming, they really were showing me the warm places and the acceptable places that people gather or create for their ancestors and how some are simply not welcome for very good reason, because they're part of a landscape that upholds the bigger structure of it all.

And there are forces wild and free that really understand those situations. And those feelings and the illnesses and the things that must be kept at Bay to contain a balance. So I appreciate how that voice came through with the warmth and with the wilderness of the cold. Thank you. Okay. Thank you. And now C has a story.

On all hallows' Eve at midnight, their time 7:00 PM mine. The sound of distant hooves echoes through the air with a company when the lost dog sniffs his way from tree to tree smelling the stories of a million other dogs before him, the wind begins to hell low and mournful. At first, then whipping up into a high pitch scream has the worst per where group of sense.

What does one call a group of courses of flock heard elite bizarre for practical purposes, they're done eating. So one would think that satisfied would be inappropriate term it there anything, but I will call them the one thing. As soon as they land, they splinter off into subgroups, grounding the forest.

Is it hurting? It's lack of occupants. Filling the air with their Hells and screams the pounding of Koons, the whipping of brands, their leader, a tall man and a taller hat gestures in the air. As of conducting the cacophony, he gallops between the foreboding trees are full-speed unafraid wielding a spear wildly.

And with abandon in doubt, he remembers what it is or who he is then again, why would he need to, he's only playing his part. He is what we have made him just as way or what he has made us. Well, memory is selective. Anyway, it's just about who gets to select in the wee hours of the morning. They happen upon a man tucked into this victim sleeping bag and bivy sack the tall man knobs in three of the wanting, surround to the camper and begin to chant.

He goes on sleeping as a heavy rider within strands and long thinning hair, hoist the camper still cuddled into his waterproof cocoon over his shoulder before mounting his horse. Again, the two Gallup chaotically into the night. So only one of them knows it as they approach the waterfall their leader makes.

But I can only describe as a sound that isn't so much curd as experienced. It rips through the worlds, creating a jagged tear in the fabric of understanding the self appeals behind them, leaving a slight energetics in tag it's equally as appealing. They arrive at the Elvin court and after a few faint niceties present the snoring bundle to the King, his smiles, then gestures to them to dump it into the corner.

Circular tables that lie in the hall are covered with food steaming, loaves of bread and cauldrons and soup yams and soy juries have as well as those marginally burnt sausage, there was like so much, there are desert and crystal carrots of Mead ale and wine. In addition to a stunning variety of Elvin alcohols in a rainbow of colors.

All sit down to enjoy the mail. Enjoy being aware of that is utterly misleading. So they have no need of physical substance. So wanting sucked down, enormous quantities of food and drinks so quickly. I can't imagine they actually taste them. And with no sign of enjoyment whatsoever, they're not done eating.

Although their bodies no longer require that when they finished what I can retrieve of serving stones. They began licking the platters in a desperate fever, the King taps on his crystal glass with the end of the sport to call attention as the final drops is squeezed from the crafts and the squat is of the wanting licks, the final dollop of yam from the central cauldron tonight's entertainment.

The King announces gesturing to the unconscious lump of human in the corner. Three Elvis hoist him upright and pry him from his bivy sack was surprising. Grace. To hold him upright, whose head drooping forward and to the left, the third, a younger elephant exquisite dress. First fingerprints then search it's him handing the driver's license to the King who reigns the name and address John Dickinson core 28 East pine allowed Mullins later, the younger L pants that came to iPads when displaying a personal file had one showing a social media page.

The King snorts, this mouse suddenly on a half smile. Good job folks. He comments, it looks like this. One's told his fiance. He's spending time alone in the woods and called in sick at work sound eruption the room as the snicker and the wanting does a full round of high fives. Everyone in hand pulls out a camera except for the younger ELLs.

So momentarily hugs the camper then slowly shift shifts into his form, like wax melting and solidifying again. That's the wave of the King's hand, the disco ball descends from the ceiling and music clubs, the room, the doppelganger leaves a Congo line as the other snap pictures next to you, does a strip tease draping the band's plaid flannel over his sprightly, feminine L looking her cheek, other ships shift into animal form and pose literally as often as not while still more guests, documentary dimensions.

The party ratios for hours until daylight threatens to shatter the night and the elephant King rings his glass. Once again, the group slowly quiet, another successfully evening, he announces tomorrow. The tall later of the one-time suggest you bring the entertainment. We'll provide the food. The Elvin King announces is the wanting head off to return the camper to the woods while his younger elf, a friend uploads all the images in social media account.

That's amazing. What a story you painted with your words. Thank you. I love the feast. I really felt like I was there with all of your descriptions of it and the food and the Mead. And I love how mischievous everybody is and so funny. And there's that element of not feeling quite safe, ever. Which I think is an important part of these kinds of adventures.

And really this time, this time of the year, and being with these magical beings, even if they blend in somehow into present time, there's that element of the uncanny and the unknown and that anything could happen and we could be snatched away at any moment. Right. And forever changed. And I think we've lost so much lore about it, that people perhaps at this time of year, really put themselves at risk as well.

Which might not have happened in previous times where people were aware of what the potential dangers might be. And I liked the collaboration between the different kinds of beings as well, and sort of the routine that they've worked out together. Otherworldly networking

and staying on top of what's happening in the mortal world, as well as incorporating it to their own delight. What was it like to spend time with this story? I actually very much enjoyed it. I really enjoyed all of them. I guess to me it rings very true that sometimes the world can be a combination of sort of not malicious, but not safe.

Either that area of gray, where you're like, well, that's not ideal and it is kind of entertaining, but, uh, you can do it that, yeah. All right. Watch your back, I guess. Yeah. Did you have a favorite. I know you love Dell of the people in it. Did you feel especially close to one or another? The two liters? Yeah.

Well, and I guess the camper I really felt for the camper. It's true. I was quite fond of them as well.

It was delightful. Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you.

Test's worried that Hilder, the goblin cat was not having an easy time with her newly transmogrified shape gone where her extra long legs now shortened by several inches. She had five toes on each pod rather than seven, and she no longer had the head to tail big line of extra stiffer along her spine.

She didn't look completely normal, but a lot of cats have that distinction. She seemed to be in a little bit of shock after the change, which great aunt hold us side was entirely natural. Give known yourself one way. And now you aren't that anymore. That's what it would feel like her great aunt had taken her by the hand, when she'd finished with her work and said, we'll take Hilder a little time to get used to this.

She may be a little clumsy, whatever she does. Don't laugh. Test promised her solidly that she wouldn't laugh, but it turned out to be harder than she thought because Hilda couldn't judge distances in her new configuration, lurching and tumbling around, which hurt her dignity more than her body. Over a little time, Hilder, the cat regained her poise and her confidence.

Tessa's mother agreed. Tessa's familiar, looked as much like a normal cat as possible under the circumstances of coming from the goblin world. And now seemed in control of her body. One fine day. It was decided that tests and Hilder could go outside together on a day that was cold and clear tests took Hilder outside for the first time.

She shot through the open door and took a great leap into the pile of leaves in the front yard test, followed and jumped into the leaves herself, twirling, happily in the wrestling red leaves. Feeling delight and awakening. Tendrils of power. She twirled first sunwise and then widdershins she did tensions.

She hadn't even been aware of reeled off of her. And she felt pure happiness. Hilter seemed to be in a similar mood and she left and gambled and generally acted like a kitten. Tess was glad she could play. She thought Hilder had been trying awfully hard to be good. And while it came naturally to tests, it seemed to take a real effort for him filter test his mother, busy in the kitchen, checked on them from time to time and seem to be satisfied by what she saw for.

She left them to it. A little wind had sprung up and move through the last of the hanging leaves on the nearest tree. A fall of autumn colored leaves snowed down on them. The little wind riffled through the pile of leaves, lifting some and flattening others, a small twister of dry leaves formed and spiraled high heels are pounced on the Juul red spiral of leaves, which lifted up off the ground above her, frustrating, her intent, a twist formed again, dancing closer to the cat and then pulling away.

The cat slunked down and stocked at her eyes. Gleaming intently, the wind twisted out of reach justice, Hilder pounced again, and missed tail twitching. Hilda became even more focused and as the wind teasing the approached Hilder pounds to the left of it, neatly landing on it, no in it as the wind twisted that direction.

Tufts saw Hilder's mouth stretched wide wider than it should be able to. And then Hilda growled and grabbed the wind with her teeth. The wind struggled furiously, but he'll just grip on. It was strong with a big gulp. She swallowed it whole, the spiraling swirl of red leaves suspended in the air, dropped abruptly to the ground.

Hilder dropped to her belly. The wind continued to struggle inside of her Hilder kept your teeth together. Hissing and arching as the wind tried to fling her from side to side. Oh, no test cried. What have you done? Tests ran her aid as Hilder scooted along the ground, moving forward and hunching up every few feet, grabbing the cat who thrashed furiously tests and treated her.

Let go of it.

She rocked from side to side as the furious wind tried to force its way out of her. When it bashed her into a chair like at the kitchen table, a little bit of the wind escaped, flowing her mother's piled papers off the table in a small gun. What on earth visit her mother asked watching intently. She swallowed a wind and she won't let it go.

What can we do old or her mother's sudden dealing by the lurching cat. Her mother was struggling with laughter and vexation. She put her hands on either side of Hilder's back, trying to feel what was happening inside the cat. As she moved her hands from her back towards her belly, the cat hissed, as well as she could through her teeth.

It was both awarding his and to help me kind of hiss the wind, which I've been rocking, killed her side to side immediately pressed for advantage changed direction and pummeling her internally from head to tail and back. Surprising Hilder who squeaked a little wind erupted from her mouth smelling of leaves on the far North and from her rear end, releasing a fart only a distressed goblin cat could make, Oh my gosh, that's terrible.

So that her mother, as Hilda catapulted out of her arms, leaving her in a noxious cloud test, tried not to giggle call auntie Holda. She'll know what to do test. As mother said, waving her arms. Test called her praying. She would be there to answer Hilda. Didn't bother saying hello. And she picked up merely saying, what did she do?

Oh, auntie she swallowed a wind surprise silence. And then cackling. Laughter auntie you told me not to laugh at her. I didn't say I couldn't laugh. Her great aunt said wiping streaming tears from her face. Where there apron, how did it happen? We were playing in the leaves and a little wind twister appeared Hilter pounced and swallowed it.

It's trying to get out of her, but she won't let it, let me talk to your mother Sibyl. Can you tell me which direction the wind is from? I think it's a...