a story nonetheless...

One Samhain Eve I was caught out at sunset, having lost my way while tracking a deer. Not wishing to be in the forest after dark on that night, I hastened to find the path again. Through the twilight mists, I finally caught sight of a familiar grove of trees and recognized the song of a nearby creek. WIth a sigh of relief, I pushed my way through the damp ferns and bracken.

Then I stumbled upon a strange situation. Right beside the path was a beautiful pure white heron whose delicate leg was caught in one of my snares. The poor creature was so frightened that she did not even move when I approached. As I drew nearer, I heard the menacing snarl of wolves only a few paces away. They were closing in on the trapped bird. I picked up a handful of stones and pelted them in the direction of the wolves. The hungry beasts ran off to seek their supper elsewhere. Then I spoke softly to the crane in what I hoped was a soothing voice. I examined her leg. It didn't seem to be broken or twisted, and so I gently unknotted the snare. In a flurry of snowy feathers, she leaped into the sky, free again. I watched her circle three times overhead, then she vanished into the darkening clouds. Satisfied, I quickly continued my race homeward against the Samhain nightfall.

I arrived at my little hut safely. My wife was waiting nervously by the hearth. "It is late to be out roaming on Samhain Eve!" she scowled, then smiled and kissed me. We had a humble feast of parsnips, dried venison and the last of our bread. Then we prepared for our night's rest.

We were just settling into our bed when there was a sharp knock at the door. "Don't go!" said my wife, trembling with fear."All manner of strange creatures and spirits are out on this night! It may be a pookah or a half-elf or -"

But I already had a lantern lit and was on my way to the door .The sharp knock came again and I pulled the latch, opening the door just a wee crack. "Who's come calling so late on Samhain Eve?"

Through the crack I could see nothing but a sheen of white. I thought of the crane I'd set loose from my snare. Then I saw two bright eyes peering at me from under a pale hood.

"Pardon, kind sir, but I would beg shelter for just one night." Her voice was like a reed flute piping, sweet and song-like. My wife clattered out of bed and stood behind me, peeking out at the maiden.

"Don't let her in, it is an enchantment!" my good woman warned me. But I opened the door and invited the girl inside.

She came in, her white cloak trailing after her. "Warm yourself by the fire," I said, stirring the embers. "Are you alone in this forest? Have you no father or mother? We are a poor couple and haven't much to eat but you are welcome to share with us."

The slender stranger stretched her arms out to the hearth. '"I have no parents," she said sadly, "but I can repay you well for your kindness. I need a room to myself and the promise that no one will look in on me."

"You may sleep in our room," I said before I realized I had spoken. My wife glared at me but it was too late.

"Thank you," answered our visitor. With a flash of her white cloak, she disappeared behind the closing door of our back room.

"What are we to do now?" my wife moaned, throwing her hands up in disgust. "What has gotten into your head, husband? I think the Samhain moon has made you mad!"

I gave no reply but dragged our cloaks from the wooden chest by the hearth so that we could make a bed on the floor by the fire. As we settled down once again, we could hear strange whirring noises coming from our bedroom.

"I am going to look in!" muttered my wife.

"No! We gave our word. Lie down and sleep now." She tossed angrily but soon was snoring.

The next morning when we awoke, there were two finely embroidered cloaks thrown over us. They were soft as silk yet sturdy and warm as any good woolen. Our guest was sitting by the hearth. "My gift to you as a thank you for sheltering me," she said in her strange little voice. "Now I must go -"

"Please, stay!" My wife hopped up, smiling warmly. "I can take these cloaks to the market and we will have a fine feast tonight! Join us at least for one more evening."

And so it went. Each night we would hear odd sounds from the room and in the morning there would be more richly made clothing for my wife and me to sell. We bought food and ale. We ate a good meal each and every day. And of course we shared with our guest.

The Winter was the best of our lives. We were never hungry and we even had enough to give away to our neighbors. The snow melted and thawed into Spring. Then came Beltane.

On that night, I was late returning from the market. My wife had stayed behind to prepare our Beltane feast. When I got home, our visitor was already shut away behind the door. Food and wine were waiting. We drank and supped in celebration of Summer's birth. Then, drowsy with drink and a heavy belly, I fell fast asleep.

I awoke with a start. A keening wail pierced the still of night. Jumping from my nest, I spied a light at the door to the back room. My wife was crouched there, peering into the room by candleglow. From inside the room there came the high pitched crying.

"We promised never to look in!" I shouted angrily. Then I blinked, unable to believe my own eyes. There in the back room was a pure white heron, her long neck drooping with sorrow. On her head was a tiny golden crown. She stared at us with shiny bright eyes.

"Now I must go," she said in her sweet reedy voice. "Thank you for sheltering me for as long as you did. And thank you for saving my life."

I knew what I had to do. I threw open the door. The heron swept past us and was gone into the night before I even could say fare thee well.