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The Eternal Ice
During my countless excursions into the forest and mountains - always as far away from the lingering gaze of the Black Beast as possible - I have seen a great deal of things, though the forest itself obeys the laws of nature and the seasons. The flowers and trees change color and foliage according to a fixed rhythm that no one - human or deity - can question. This constant change shines in and of itself, magical and holy.
However, high up in the mountains, things are very different. Where the forest no longer stretches out its arms, the whole world seems different.
Rocks and snow are all that the eye can see as far as the horizon. The air becomes thinner, and temperatures never rise above freezing. At the edge of the world, eternal winter reigns.
Hidden between snowdrifts and empty rock walls are ancient ice caves. According to the old legends, these caves were dug into the ice over a thousand years ago. I have never entered them myself because, if you look closely, you can see that the caves were carved by sharp claws. Who else but the Black Beast could have done such a thing? I'm not suicidal enough to find out what the monster is doing high up in the mountains, even though my curiosity burns like fire.
Up there, where eternal ice reigns, things happen that we simple farmers and hunters aren't supposed to know about. I have my suspicions and theories about these things, but, as they say in the village, I'm just imagining it all. The Black Beast poses no threat as long as we don't venture too far into the wilderness and celebrate the annual festival in honor of the deity.
Well, that's what the elders of the village say. I disagree with them.
Because - you don't have to be a scholar to put two and two together. If the beast is up to something in the ice and so many women have disappeared, then there's only one logical conclusion, isn't there? The few graves I found in the forest don't match the number of women who went up that mountain and never returned.
I just know they're up there in the ice. Make me think of that old winter song my dear grandmother used to sing, when the evenings were cold and the hearth fire was warm:
Cover me with snow
Freeze me to death
Forever I'll lay in the alpine bed
Seasons will change
But I shall remain
Stripped bare of my coat
I will rest in peace