~The Little Pine Tree

In the woods there grew a little pine tree, and its leaves were long, slender, green needles. It was very little, indeed, and although there were many other trees around it, it felt quite alone as there were no other pine trees near by.

The little pine tree was proud of its fine, green needles when the other trees in the forest were bare, and the snow was white on the ground. But in summer time, when the other trees had beautiful, large, green leaves, the pine tree thought that it would be nice if it could have large leaves also.

"I wish that I could have beautiful large leaves, but leaves which are more beautiful than those of any of the other trees," it thought. "If I could have my wish, I would have leaves of shining gold."

The little pine tree slept. through the night, and in the morning when it awoke it had leaves of shining gold.

"How very beautiful I am," it thought. "How my leaves glisten in the sun: Now I shall always be happy."

In the afternoon a man came through the woods along a path which passed by the little pine tree.
When he came to the little tree and saw the beautiful golden leaves, he stopped and picked them all and put them into the bag which he was carrying and took them home with him.
Then the poor little tree had no leaves.

"What shall I do?" it cried. "I will not wish for gold leaves again.
If I could have another wish, I would have leaves of glass.
They would sparkle in the sun, and no one would take them away."

Again the little pine tree slept through the night, and when it awoke the next morning it had leaves of sparkling glass.

"How beautiful I am now." it thought, "my leaves are of clear crystal and they tinkle as the wind passes through them."

All through the morning, the little tree was very happy.
But, in the afternoon, black clouds hid the sun, and the rain came down, and the wind turned cold and harsh.
The little tree shivered. It shook and shook, and when the storm was over, all of the glass leaves had been broken and had fallen to the ground. Again the poor little tree had no leaves.

"What can I do now?" it cried. "A man took my leaves of gold, and the storm broke my leaves of glass. If I could have still another wish, I would have large green leaves like the other trees in the forest."

Once more the little pine tree slept through the night and when it awoke the next morning it had beautiful, large, green leaves.

"Now I am like the other trees and as beautiful as they are," it thought.

The little tree was happy once more. But soon a goat came along the path looking for something to eat.
The little tree was so small that the goat could easily reach the leaves, and they looked so good and juicy that he nibbled at each of the branches and ate up all the leaves.

"Alas!" cried the little tree, "a man took my leaves of gold; the storm broke my leaves of glass; a goat ate my large green leaves! If I could have just one more wish, I would have my long green needles again."

Toward evening, the little tree fell asleep and again slept through the night. And when it awoke in the morning it had its long slender green needles again. The birds flew to the little pine tree, and they were as happy as it was that it was covered again with long green pine needles.

"Gold leaves, glass leaves, and large, green leaves are very fine;" thought the little tree, "but there is nothing so good for a little pine tree as its own long needles."

An Old German Legend

~A Tale of old Florence

There were many enemies outside the gates of the fair City of Flowers, and many a war did she wage with envious neighbours, but even now, when quietness reigned without, there was little peace to be found within.
The two great families of the Buondalmonti and the Bardi kept the city in constant turmoil. They were both strong and powerful, proud and overbearing, and though the quarrel between the families was so old that scarcely one of them remembered what it was about, still they hated each other with hearty, unquestioning hatred, just as their fathers had done before them.

Of course the servants and followers of the different houses kept up the quarrel even more fiercely than their masters.
Whenever, by evil chance, they happened to meet in some narrow street, neither would give way to let the other pass, and there would begin at once a fierce fight and a call for help until the whole quarter rang with the uproar.
"A Bardi, a Buondalmonti" was shouted from every side,
while all friends and enemies hastened to join in the fray.

But, after all, the Florentines were used to quarrels and bloodshed, and they never allowed such things to interfere with their holidays and merry-makings.
So it was that on the Feast of San Giovanni, when this story begins, all Florence was blithe and gay and bent on pleasure, though the prudent did not forget to carry a weapon handy in case of need.

From early morning the bells had rung out. Coloured cloths and gay carpets hung out from every window.
In the great square the city banners were floating in the breeze, and throngs of country-people came hurrying through the gates, all dressed in holiday attire. The churches were hung with crimson silk and velvet hangings, and a blaze of candles lit up each altar in honour of the festa of the patron saint of Florence.

It was in the church of San Giovanni that the principal service of the day was held, and in the crowd of nobles who thronged the place, many a fair young face was to be seen, beautiful as the flowers that give the city its name.
But there was one face more lovely than all the rest, or at least so it seemed to a young man who stood leaning against a pillar, with eyes intent upon a maiden who knelt close by.
She was tall and slender, with a wealth of golden hair in which shone the soft gleam of pearls cunningly twisted among the braids. Her white silk robe edged with shining embroideries hung in long, straight folds around her, and gave her the look of some fair, slender lily. But it was the beauty of her face and her innocent, star-like eyes that kept the young Ippolito Buondalmonti spell-bound, and made him forget to kneel and join in the prayers with the other worshippers.

Who could she be? Ippolito knew most of the noble Florentine ladies by sight, but he had never seen this fair maid before.

As he stood gazing, there was a stir among the crowd, and with a start the young man realised that the service was over and people were preparing to leave the church. Quickly he elbowed his way till he reached the great door and then waited until his fair vision should come out.

He had not long to wait, and then it was an easy matter to keep her in sight, for there were so many people hurrying along the streets that no one could notice if she was followed.
Darting in and out, sometimes close and sometimes further off,
he never lost sight of her until she and her companion turned into the narrow, gloomy street of the Via dei Bardi, and he saw her about to mount the steps of a grim old palace there.

Ippolito hurried forward and stood at the side of the door, and as she turned her head their eyes met. With deep reverence the young man lifted his plumed cap and bared his head.
The maiden started and for a moment looked almost afraid. Her companion had gone on in front and had noticed nothing, so the maiden looked timidly again at the handsome young man who made such a brave show standing there in his sky-blue embroidered doublet and mantle and silken hose.
Then a half-mischievous smile lit up  her face, and although she knew full well that no well-brought-up maiden should take notice of a stranger, be he never so handsome, she waved her hand and ran lightly up the steps after her companion.

There were several loiterers in the street, and Ippolito turned to a man who stood idly leaning against the wall, munching his midday meal of black bread and onions.

"Canst thou tell me what palace that is?" asked Ippolito, pointing to the grim old doorway where his vision had disappeared.

"Art thou a Florentine and yet dost not know the palace of the Bardi?" answered the man. "Why, thou wilt be asking next where dwell the Buondalmonti?"

Ippolito started and bit his lips. If this was indeed true,
all his new-born hopes were dashed to the ground.
If the maiden belonged to the hated family of the Bardi, there was but little chance they would ever meet, for never was the feud between the families fiercer than now.

It did not take long to find out all that he wished to know, and, alas, his worst fears turned out to be well founded.

The maiden's name was Dianora, the only child of the stern old Bardi. She was but sixteen years old and motherless.
Brought up by an aged aunt, she led a lonely, dull life in the grim old palace, with no companions of her own age.

It was little wonder then that the face of the handsome young stranger whom she had seen on the festa day should haunt her thoughts. The very next time she went out for one of her solemn, stately walks on the Piazza with her father, she could not help smiling to herself when she saw the same face watching her from a distance, and caught a glimpse of a plumed cap swept low, as she turned to enter the palace gateway.

That night, when the moonbeams slanted their way into the narrow street, she heard the sound of soft music below, and when she noiselessly opened her window and looked down, there was the same handsome face upturned and the wistful eyes lifted towards her window, as the notes of a love-song and the gentle music of a guitar floated on the night air.

But though Ippolito caught these glimpses of his fair lady, he could do no more. It seemed hopeless to dream that they would ever learn to know each other. Yet the more and more hopeless it became the more Ippolito's heart was set upon it.

He began to grow thin and worn and could neither eat nor sleep, until at last he thought of a plan. He had an old friend,
Madonna Contessa, who had always been good to him, and had taken no part in the family quarrels.
She was a kind, sensible person, and knew Dianora, so one day poor Ippolito went to her and told her all his story.

"Now, are there not enough fair maidens in Florence to choose from, that thou must needs fix on a daughter of the Bardi?"
asked Madonna Contessa, shaking her wise old head.

"There is but one Dianora," said Ippolito sadly.

"Ah, well," said she, folding her hands and looking across to the blue hills that were growing misty in the dim magic of the twilight hour, "I have not forgotten the dreams and disappointments of my youth, and I would fain make two young hearts happy.
But it is a difficult and a dangerous task."

"If I may but touch her hand and speak to her," sighed Ippolito.

"Well, at least I can promise thee so much," answered Madonna Contessa briskly. "This very week I celebrate here the feast of the vintage, and Dianora Bardi shall be among my guests.
Behave thyself wisely and leave it to me.
All will go well, as thou shalt see."

The summer was passing over and it was time for the grapes to be gathered in when Madonna Contessa invited her friends to the great feast held every year in honour of the vintage.
The young people came early, and soon the vineyard was thronged with gaily dressed youths and maidens, and there was much laughing and merry chatter as they gathered the purple clusters of grapes that hung from the leafy festoons of the vines.

Ippolito had arrived first of all, but he was not among the gatherers in the vineyard. In a quiet, cool parlour of the villa he waited with beating heart, striving to be patient until Dianora should appear. He had not long to wait, for very soon the curtain was drawn aside and the kind old Contessa entered with Dianora at her side. It seemed to Ippolito as if suddenly the whole world was flooded with sunshine, and he knew at last what happiness meant.

How much they had to say to each other, and how quickly the time sped past! It seemed as if they had scarcely met when it was time to part.

"Thou wilt be true to me?" said Ippolito as he bade her adieu.

"I will be true till death," said Dianora; "but I fear there is naught but trouble in store for us. Dost thou think my father will ever consent to my marriage with a Buondalmonti?"

"Then we shall find a way to wed without his consent," said Ippolito gaily.

But though they both tried to speak so bravely they knew they would be parted for ever if the secret of their friendship became known to either of those fierce families.

So time went on, bringing no hope of happier days, until at last Ippolito determined to take matters into his own hands. He thought if Dianora was once his wife no power on earth could part them, and together they would brave any fate in store.

So once more the kind old Contessa stood their friend and she arranged for a priest to come to the villa, and one happy day Dianora and Ippolito were married there in the little private chapel, with only the quiet sculptured angels to look on, and the birds to sing the wedding hymn of praise from the green boughs of the trees that shaded the open windows.

Still no one guessed their secret, and Dianora lived on as usual her quiet, dull life in the old palace of the Via dei Bardi.
But her heart was light, and she dreamed of happy days that must surely come if only she waited patiently.

But to wait patiently was exactly the one thing that Ippolito could not do, and very soon he contrived to tell her of a plan he had arranged which would bring them many happy meetings.
With a long silken ladder coiled under his cap, he made his way one dark night to the Via dei Bardi, when the old palace looked more grim and forbidding by night than even by day.
There was a faint light in one window, however, and Ippolito's heart beat with happiness as he stood below and softly gave the signal they had agreed to use. The window was opened very quietly, and soon a cord came dangling down.
Swiftly and silently Ippolito fastened his ladder to the cord and waited breathlessly while it was pulled up and he could feel it securely fastened above.

But, alas! for the careful plan. Scarcely had Ippolito began to climb than there was a sudden clanking sound of weapons, and a crowd of armed servants came hurrying out of the Bardi palace waving torches and swords.

There hung Ippolito defenceless, at their mercy, and in a moment he was seized, dragged down, and securely bound.

"A robber! a robber!" they cried; "away with him to the Bargello."

But when they arrived at the city guard-house and they asked him his name, great was their surprise to learn he was a young noble, and one belonging to the house of their enemy the Buondalmonti.

"What was thy errand at the palace when thou wert found?" they asked, perplexed.

"To rob," said Ippolito boldly, for nothing would tempt him to betray Dianora.

"And what then?" they said.

"To set fire to my enemy's palace," said Ippolito recklessly.

Here was wickedness indeed, and it was high time such a bold young robber should be caught and securely locked up.

In the morning, when the old Bardi learned of the capture,
he rubbed his hands with glee.

"Aha!" said he, "we have made a famous capture this tune.
With this weapon we will strike a final blow at the pride of the house of Buondalmonti."

It was the time for the morning meal, and Dianora and her aunt were seated at the table when the old Bardi came in with the news.

"Dost know young Ippolito Buondalmonti?" he asked.
"A gay young cock that will soon cease to crow.
We have caught him red-handed trying to break into the palace last night with intent to rob and plunder."

"To rob and plunder?" echoed Dianora. "Surely that could not be."

"Ay, and he was seized under thy very window," said her father grimly, "and soon he will swing in a different manner."

Dianora turned deadly white and gazed with terrified eyes at her father's angry face.

"Do not frighten the maid with thy tales of midnight robbers,"
said her old aunt crossly; "see how pale she grows.
It is enough to terrify any one to hear of such deeds."

"Tush, tush, keep up a stout heart, little daughter," said the old man. "We have this gay young robber safely under guard at the Bargello, and soon there will be no more climbing of palace walls for him."

Poor Dianora clasped her hands together in agony.
Oh, if only she were brave enough to confess the truth.
She tried to speak, but the words died away, for she dared not face her father's terrible anger. She could only creep away to her own room and sob her heart out with fear and grief.

Meanwhile Ippolito was taken before the podestà, or chief magistrate of Florence, and again examined.
It seemed difficult to believe that a young noble could be a common thief, and he was asked again and again why he had tried to enter the palace. But nothing could move him to confess.
He held Dianora's honour dearer than his life, and his only answer was that he had gone there to plunder and to burn down his enemy's house. In vain his powerful family offered to pay a fine or undergo any sacrifice if he might be set free.
The laws of Florence were strict, and the podestà refused to be bribed.
There was but one sentence for such a crime, and Ippolito must die.

Now it was the custom in Florence that any one condemned to death should be granted one last request, and when in the early morning Ippolito was led out to his execution he prayed that he might pass by way of the Via dei Bardi instead of by the usual road. The wish was granted, although it was a long way round,
for they fancied the young man might desire to beg forgiveness ere he died.

It was a mild spring day, and the sun was just glinting over the roofs of the houses and scarcely yet lighting up the gloom of the narrow street, when the procession turned into the Via dei Bardi. There, in front, walked the frati chanting their solemn prayers, then came the soldiers, then the guard with Ippolito bound between them. The young noble walked with firm steps and head proudly erect, and he never paused until they were beneath the palace windows. Then his steps faltered a moment and he cast one swift glance upwards to the window of Dianora's room.
Ah, yes! he knew she would be there. For a moment they looked into each other's eyes, and he gave a silent gesture of farewell which she alone saw, and then passed on.

That look was more than Dianora could bear. It was early morning, and she still wore only her white night-robe, while her hair hung unbound in a golden cloud about her shoulders.
But she did not pause to think of that. In an instant she had opened the door and flown down the stairs, and before the procession could pass she was among the crowd, parting the soldiers from right to left. She never paused until she reached the prisoner and clasped her arms around his neck.

"He is innocent, innocent," she sobbed out. "He is my husband."

In a moment all was noise and confusion, while the old Bardi appeared in a furious rage.

"She is mad," he shouted; "the fright has turned her brain, poor maid. Carry her in and pay no heed to her raving."

But Dianora clung all the more tightly round her husband's neck, and repeated in a clear, steady voice, "Indeed it is naught but the truth; he is my husband, and he is innocent."

In vain the Bardi tried to carry her off, until one of the frati,
who perhaps had heard Ippolito's confession and knew the truth, interfered.

"Mad or not, the maiden must come with us before the podestà that we may make inquiry into this," he said.

They wrapped a cloak around Dianora's trembling form, and gently carried her with them, soothing her fears and telling her all would be well.

The whole story was soon told, and Ippolito was set free from his bonds. Then the chiefs of the city ordered that the Bardi and the Buondalmonti should appear before them.

"Is it not time that your senseless quarrelling and unmeaning hatred should cease?" they sternly asked.
"Your son and daughter are married, and nothing can undo the deed. It were better to join hands now and henceforth forget your feud."

So it was agreed that there should be peace between the families, and Florence at last had rest from their fierce quarrellings. Ippolito and Dianora, of course, lived happily together, and as the old chronicle tells us, "they had twelve children, sons and daughters, each as brave and beautiful as their father and mother."

by  Amy Steedman

~Little Legends of The Madonna.

In the lonely country places of Italy, where the people live a struggling life of toil, where comforts are few and hardships are many, the poor often tell to each other the stories of our Blessed Lord and the Madonna.
These stories never fail to bring comfort and cheer to their weary hearts, for they love to remember that the Lord was just as poor as they, and that His dear Mother knew what it meant to toil and care for her Child.
It seems to lighten their burdens and make them more content, when they think that the King of Heaven once shared their lot.

And sometimes when the children complain that they have only lupin beans to eat, and say that lupins leave them just as hungry as they were before, the mother will tell them this old legend, which the children never tire of hearing.

We all know how the Gesu Bambino was born in a poor stable with no royal servants to guard Him, although He was King of Heaven. But we must remember, that He had something better than royal servants. He had His own dear Mother, and she was the best guard of all. She needed to be brave and watchful, for very soon danger drew near. The wicked King of that country sent out his cruel soldiers to kill the newborn Child, and the guards were soon on their way to Bethlehem to do his bidding.
Then the Madonna wrapped the precious Bambino in her shawl, and set out swiftly and secretly by night, to save Him from King Herod's fury.

Early in the morning, when the faint light was beginning to dawn over the hills, and the olive-trees showed silver in the morning dew, the poor Madonna sat down to rest by the wayside. She was very weary, for she had walked all night. Her heart too was heavy with fear, though her precious burden felt light.

So far she had escaped, but even now as she rested she heard the tramp of feet close by, and saw a company of soldiers wending their way down the long white road.
It was useless to think of hiding, for they must already have seen her, and it was useless, too, to think of flight, for the men
would so easily overtake her.
There was nothing to do but to sit still quietly and pray to the good God for help. So she did not move or start, but gently and carefully she laid the Bambino in her lap and covered Him with her apron, tying the corners together to hide what lay there.

"Sleep, Little One, sleep," she whispered.
"Thy Mother will see that no harm comes near Thee. Only sleep."

Then up came the guards heated and angry with their fruitless search. Very roughly they spoke to her.

"Hast thou seen a woman and child pass by this way?"
they asked. "Answer truly or it will be the worse for thee."

"I have seen no one pass by," said the Madonna, lifting her gentle eyes to their scowling faces.

"What hast thou got in thy apron?" shouted one of the men.

"Gran Signor," she answered, and by the way she said those words it sounded as if she meant that her apron was full of grain.
But what she truly said was "the great lord."
Then one of the soldiers rudely caught at a corner of her apron and shook it. And lo! a stream of golden grain trickled out.

The men seemed satisfied then that this was but a poor peasant woman who could tell them nothing, so they turned back grumbling to seek some other road.

The Madonna bent her head over the sleeping Child and thanked God for the miracle of the grain, and then she once more lifted Him in her arms and set out on her way.
But she had not gone far before she again heard the tramp of soldiers' feet, and turning aside she hurried through a field of lupins. The lupin beans were dry and ready to be cut, and their tall stalks hid her as she passed. She stepped as lightly as she could and held her breath as she sped on noiselessly, holding her Treasure in her arms. But these lupin beans were senseless
things, and instead of keeping very still and quiet as she passed, they rattled so loudly and made such a busy, bustling noise that it was a wonder the soldiers did not hear.

The Madonna stopped, trembling, to listen, but the tramp of feet grew fainter, and she knew that the pursuers had passed on and the danger was over for the time. Then she turned back to the field of lupins and shook her head over the noisy beans.

"Could ye not be silent when the Gesu Bambino was in danger?" she said. "Henceforth when men eat of you, ye shall not satisfy their hunger, and this shall be your punishment."

So that is why the lupin beans leave ever a hungry, empty feeling within us.

But the Madonna journeyed on, and when the sun was high in the heavens and she was faint with heat, again she heard the sound of pursuing feet. She was passing through a field just then where the peasants were sowing their corn, and the kind people seeing her tired face came round her and asked if they could help her on her way.

"I have a great favour to ask," she said. "A guard of soldiers will presently come up, and should they ask if ye have seen a woman and child pass by this way, only answer, I pray you, that one passed by when ye were sowing your corn."

The men were puzzled, but promised to do as she asked.
And lo! when she had crossed the field, the corn in the furrows began to sprout, the green blades shot up, and the ears of corn appeared, swelled and ripened before their eyes, so that by the time the soldiers arrived the men were in the midst of the harvest.

"Have ye seen a woman and child pass by this way?"
shouted the soldiers.

The peasants stopped their cutting and looked up, answering quietly just as the Madonna had bade them.

"We saw a woman and child pass by when we were sowing this corn," they said.

"What use is that to us?" stormed the soldiers. "Keep thy foolish jests for those that are in the humour for such things."

"It is no jest," said one of the reapers, "we only speak the truth."

"Well," said the soldiers to each other, "these men are too stupid to deceive us. It is no use going on. We must search in some other direction."

So the Madonna and the Bambino escaped unhurt, for the good God has many ways of saving His children.

The poor Madonna!
She had but a sad, anxious life to the very end, and even now one can see the traces of her tears.
It was when she stood all trembling and weeping beneath the Cross that the swallows, swooping and darting overhead,
longed to comfort and help her. Even the birds were sorrowful at that sight, and they flew closer and closer, circling round and round until at last they swept her breast with their soft feathers as they passed. The great tears were dropping slowly from her eyes, and fell on the upturned breasts of the little birds, and wherever a tear fell the feathers turned from black to pure white.
And so the swallows have worn their white badge ever since in memory of the comfort they longed to give.

by  Amy Steedman

~Wolf and Boy

Once upon a time, there was a wolf, and this wolf was all alone.
All of the other wolves had been caught or killed or driven off.
But this last wolf, he stayed. And he did all of the usual wolfish things. He lived in a cave high up in the hills.
He raided the occasional flock for a stray sheep.

He also would appear from time to time late in the evening on a trail from the fields running down to the village to frighten some milk maid or herds boy coming home a little too late from the watch. And this gave rise to the stories of great, gnarled, bloody teeth and wet, long, lolling tongue and fiery, red, hungry eyes... the wolf had quite a reputation in the village.

But that was not the worst of it. The most horrible thing of all,
the thing that froze the souls of the old men, and caused the red faces of the young people to blanche, and the heads of the children to go deep under bed covers at night was what the wolf would do from time to time, in the cold crackling air of the frosty silver moon, high on the stark peak of the stoney mountain near the village. He would sit up there and howl, howl with the sound of a thousand midnights down in a murky bog.
Those who heard it swore it was a sound that only a beast could make whose soul was tortured and lost forever.
And it chilled to the marrow everyone who heard it... everyone, that is, except one person.

For living in the village was a boy who had lived there all of his life. And yet no one really knew this boy. I mean, he spoke to folks, and they spoke to him. But no one really understood him or cared to. Even his parents were at a loss to understand his ways and his thoughts. So they mostly humored him.
And the boy would lie awake in his bed at night wondering about his life and why he felt so lost among the villagers.
And sometimes he would cry or sometimes he would be angry. But when he heard the call of the wolf on the mountain,
right away he knew that here was a voice the like of which he'd not heard before. Here was a voice that spoke to him of feelings no one else knew that he had. And lying there and listening with every fiber of his body, he knew he had to seek out this wolf and know from it why it cried in the night.
Oh, he'd heard the stories of the teeth, the tongue, the eyes so red and burning, but nothing would do except that he had to know that wolf for himself.

And so one day, before the sun rose, he set out on the road to the mountain where it was said the wolf made his den.
It was a long road and a steep one, but the boy took no stick,
nor wore no hat to guard him from the sun.
And it was a dangerous journey to be sure, but the boy
took no weapon to defend himself.
And though the country was barren and rocky and not fruitful where he was going, the boy took no food nor drink to sustain him. And though he'd never been on this way before,
he followed no map, but went the way of his heart, come what may. It was sometime at the end of a day's travel that he
began to grow thirsty and the emptiness inside him began
to make itself known in his stomach. He walked, becoming even more thirsty until darkness overcame him and he was forced to stop for the night in some trees near the road.
And as he sat hungry and thirsty in the growing darkness, he thought for a moment about turning back and rushing blindly down the path and back to the village.
But he knew that was not the way for him. So he sat for a long while shivering in the night and then lay down finally to sleep.
In his dreams, the moon shone silver on the frosty stones,
the air was clear and crisp, and the voice of the wolf rang
out from the top of one of the peaks, calling out the way ahead, perhaps his way.
He awoke in the dawn with a start, wondering if the dream had been real, and the wolf had actually called in the night.

He rose, still hungry, and continued on his way.
Soon the path grew steeper and rockier.
As the sun was moving high and the day was warming, the boy noticed ahead of him a flock of birds swooping and playing in a small pool beside the road.

The boy rushed to the water, fell on his belly and drank his fill. When he rose, the birds were watching him silently
from a nearby tree limb. Realizing he had interrupted their play, he smiled and thanked them for letting him drink and
continued on the path. Though his thirst was slaked, still an emptiness was burning deep in his belly. And as he walked, once again thoughts came to him of quitting, of just sitting down under a tree to wait for whatever might happen.
And what if he never got up again?
Would anyone miss him or come to find him?
But something told him this was not the end of his journey.
If he did not continue he would never know what was at the end of the path or why the wolf cried so in the night.
And so he decided to continue walking knowing not what lay ahead of him.

You can imagine how relieved he was after several minutes to see beside the path a clump of bushes that were heavy and inviting with red, juicy berries. He rushed to them and began to pick and eat the sweet, ripe berries. But then he heard a noise. And looking up, he came face to face with a very large and hairy bear. The bear was only a few feet away in the bushes himself eating the tasty berries, The boy realized that those large arms were entirely capable of reaching out to catch at him and crush the life out of him. And so he did not move, but stood with the berries still sweet on his tongue, his lips red with juice, his cheeks now white with fright.

But the bear only stared and waited too... for a moment.
And then the long white teeth showed in his fuzzy face, and one massive set of claws moved... and he began to pick and munch more of the ripe berries. The boy, realizing that the bear was hungry only for berries, smiled and began to breathe again,
and went back to eating as well. After several minutes of filling himself, the boy was ready to move along, and, smiling and waving to his friend, he left the bushes and continued on the path.

A way up the path the boy noticed it was becoming steeper and so much harder to travel. And he was beginning to wonder when or how or if he would ever see his wolf and meet his wolf and know his wolf and be able to answer the strange desire he held within him to feel what the wolf felt deep in the night. Suddenly he heard a noise;

A stone tumbled; and the clatter echoed as the boy froze on the trail. His eyes darted left and right, looking for the source of the movement when something large moved and leaped into the path. His heart stopped, then began to beat again as he saw the visitor clearly. It wasn't the wolf at all, but a small deer, a yearling, a young male whose nubbish horns were just
beginning to show on the top of his head.
The two of them stared at one another for a moment,
curious, fearless, silent.

The deer gazed at the boy wide-eyed.
The boy gazed back, and suddenly he was concerned that the young fellow might be in danger. And he spoke quietly to the young deer.

"Oh, do be careful here. There's a bear down the path a way.
And a wolf about, I think. I'm searching for that wolf myself,
but you?
I don't think you are ready to meet him."

The deer stared back in wonder and listening."
Be careful, little man. Up here all alone and so friendly.
Be wary of those who would hurt you."

And with that the boy walked on slowly toward the deer who started and scampered away into the rocks.
The boy walked smiling to himself as he thought of the deer now safely hidden in the rocks. Hiding until he grew strong and large enough to defend himself against a bear or a wolf.

As he was thinking of this, he noticed the darkening sky and the cold chill of the deepening night air as it gathered about him. He continued along the bare path, trying not too look too far to left or right, trying to keep his footing, wondering if he had been wise in coming here, if he had been right in seeking the wolf in such a lonely and desolate place. He was growing more unsure of each step as he moved carefully and slowly up the path.
When suddenly... he saw something... no felt something ahead.
It might have been nothing. It might have been a shadow
crossing the moon. It might have been everything he sought.

His heart beat faster. His head grew light, but his eyes stayed sharp as he stared ahead of him up the trail.
He waited quietly for another sign, and soon came his reward as the shadows moved up ahead and became living and breathing flesh. There on four paws, eyes reflecting his own bright gaze, head still as stone and pointing down the trail toward him,
was the wolf.

He could not move. The red eyes, the great tongue, the huge claws flashed in his memory. But as he stared, he saw none of them. He could also recall the song that had drawn him here, the singer from the distant night, now only yards from him, breathing in the cold night, and exhaling hot steam.

And as he stood, peering into the wild eyes before him, remembering that sad, sweet song, he felt his heart soften and his fear evaporate. His eyes filled and, without warning, he knew why he had come here. He knew in that instant what he had traveled to find, what he had heard in that song, what he had embraced in his lonely bed as he had lain awake, listening and wanting.
He knew that the song had been a cry for an end to solitude.
The cry was to banish aloneness. It had reached out across the miles and the years and touched him. And it had guided him.
He knew this now.

And so with his heart full and his eyes afire with understanding, the boy faced the wolf and he spoke back... with his smile.
And in that instant, the two... boy and wolf... were one heart.

It is said the boy never returned to the life he had known in the village. No one there could really be sure of his fate.
No one would ever go looking. But there is one tale, told by a brave hunter who became lost after chasing a large deer up the mountain one day. When he returned, he told a wild and unbelievable story of seeing a boy and a wolf through the trees, lying asleep together under a tree some distance away.
But as he made his way thrashing and crashing through the forest to where he thought he would rescue the lad, he became lost,
and could no longer see nor find them.
And so he returned to his safe villager's life, speaking in hushed tones of his brief
glimpse of another life he could never understand.
And as the people listened to his story told over and over again until the words were worn, and as the long years passed,
some who listened would laugh, some would weep quietly,
a few would cross themselves in disgust, and, once and again, some few would take heart and lie awake at night listening with hope to the strange and wolfish duet, sung high upon a distant peak in the silver moonlight.