The small group of exhausted villagers gazed at the man in the mist. Though their village had been destroyed by ruthless invaders and they had been traveling for more than a month with little food, you could still see hope shinning like saphires in their moonlit eyes.
Their wise woman had died on the first night of their journey, but as she lay, wheezing and coughing blood, she had told them of her vision. She had seen the evil men coming, the village burning, the long journey and it's destination.
"You will go east", she had whispered, "to a high mountain and in the valley you will find a cloaked man. You will follow him and he will lead you home."
The displaced people had heeded her every word and made the long trip east. Now, here was a cloaked figure in the mist of the valley below the high, dark peaks of a foreign mountain. He beckoned to them and they followed.
They followed him to a large stone jutting from a shallow stream.
The stone held their gaze almost as much as the stranger had. It was slightly higher than a their tallest man and covered in smooth, slick moss and lichen. The larger portion seemed almost perched atop the sloping base and the midnight moon gave it an almost magical glow.
They watched in silence as the figure stepped on to the stones glistening bottom ridge and leaned his back comfortably against its sloping top. He reached up with a pale hand, pulled the hood from his shaggy white hair and slowly licked his shadowy lips.
"I found this sanctuary when I was but a boy." He began, his voice raspy with age. "My parents had been killed and I had traveled to many villages along the way, seeking food, shelter and comfort. The people I met were not kind."
Several heads bobbed in agreement.
"They had no place for me, no room, no food and above all no interest in hearing my story. It was the same at each place, my story did not matter, my life did not matter. It did not take me long to simply give up. The only people who had cared for me were gone and others were too occupied with themselves. And so I began walking east. I knew then that life had abandoned me and death it seemed also did not want me. Starved to the bone and exhausted I finally arrived in this valley. I was spellbound by the way the moon lent her beauty and the sun her loving grace to this place. In this place berries were plentiful, fish abundant and the wildlife tame."
The stranger smiled down at them and gestured that they should look beyond their own ranks. As they did, several gasped at the sight. Animals of all sorts lay on the banks and tall grasses. Mountain lions, mice, wild sheep, rabbits, birds and more. They were calm and attentive. Their eyes focused not on the villagers, but on the thin man lounging peacefully against the stone. The villagers looked back to the man, marveling at his apparent magics. He continued.
"All was well here, but I found I was still lonely, abandoned. One night, as the cold mountain rains came and the stream began to swell, I climbed atop this old weathered stone and cried. It was then that I first noticed the magic of this place. As my tears fell upon it's smooth, carpeted surface", he patted the stone affectionately, "I began to tell my story. I began to tell the stone, the mountain, the water, and the moon. And, I began to feel better. So, I continued. I told every story I knew and made up even more. With each new story the moon glowed brighter. With every new tale more beasts came to listen. From the moment I arrived, this valley was peace, nurtured by the sun, smiled on by the moon, rhapsodized by the waters, kept company by it's creatures and protected by it's mountain. But now, with the only thing I had to give it, it became paradise. My paradise."
He gazed upon the villagers now smiling faces. Their cares washed away, and their boundless hope flowing free.
"This is my paradise, and now it shall be yours. I am old and though the magic here has kept me for many long years, my time draws near."
A muffled cry rose from valley. The beasts hung their heads and tears trickled down many of the peoples cheeks as he went on.
"You will find all you have ever needed in this place. You will find happiness and more. The valley will keep you for all your days, but, you must also keep it. You must share your stories, weave cleaver, happy and even tragic tales for her. Love her with your words and she will give you everything. You are all story tellers now. Remember this as you climb upon her ear."
He ran his white fingers along the mossy edge and rose. In silence he pulled his hood over his head and stepped down. They watched as he slowly turned and began making his way through the glassy water toward the mouth of the valley, and as he disappeared into the mist from which he had come they began looking to one another.
From deep within their circle the young son of a farmer rose with a sly grin and made his way to the stone. He did his best to position himself as the old man had and as his lips slowly parted and his first words slid past, the lost people of a dead village knew they were home.
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