The Wolf Albion

Albion stands almost as tall as Old Woman Solstice, which is to says about half as high as the snow banks flanking the windward side of her stone cottage.  He rules over the deep winter forest with gentle and somber majesty. His haunting howl can be heard for miles away, but when he chooses to speak, his voice is a soft whisper that tickles your ear.

The white wolves living in Rynver Woods spend the darkest times of winter nipping affectionately at each others ears, and swapping yarns and tales around a campfire made of incandescent crystals. But when Albion makes his appearance, all merry making stops and a reverent hush settles over them. The crystal campfire dims and the wolves white pelts glimmer with starlight. And then Albion softly speaks...

"Great and gentle Wolves of Rynver Woods...

Old Woman Solstice wends and weaves the long dark threads of winter nights. Shadows of pines stretch taller than the trees themselves across the snow and we must make ready for the mystery of renewal."

Around the circle, the wolves nod and blink their luminous obsidian eyes.

"Each one of you knows the vision the humans need to rekindle their love for the Earth and one another. This is your sacred work - to plant the seed in each of their hearts during the night of long dark hours."

Although Albion's voice is barely audible, his warm breath is a tempered hush of wind that carries the words like sparkling snowflakes into their attentive ears. He lets his gaze rest briefly on each wolf so that the immense importance of their mission penetrates deep into the marrow.

"You must ride swiftly, silently across the landscape of their dreams and scatter the seeds in only the most fertile of places."

The silence deepened. The wolves knew that though their work would bring great joy should they succeed, it was fraught with risk. If a wolf lingered in the land of dreams, the human would awaken, remember the white wolf of the dream, and then thinking 'it was only a dream', the fertile hope of the human would curdle like sour milk, and the fragile seeds would die.

"I believe you have trained well to be swift and focused, and this is the work all of you can fulfill," Albion paused. His white form appeared larger now as the night sky settled more and more into the obsidian black of his eyes. And now through each eye, one small pinpoint of bright light shone with a pearly luster. This was no reflection, it was a trail of starlight that came from within his spirit and the vision he shared with the divine light of love.

"But, some of you will encounter a most wondrous thing," Albion continued. "The human you visit will dream within the dream of a white wolf." The wolves tilted their heads to better catch Albion's meaning.

"My dear sisters and brothers, let me explain as simply as I can. When the human dreams of a wolf dreaming, then he or she has entered the space between the worlds as you have. Neither one of you will know who is dreaming. You will feel lost and bewildered. Should this be your destiny, Wolves, you must swallow the dreamer and bring them back. For you then must become the fertile ground and, this human, the seed that you must grow. Remember, it is you who are Albion. I am but a reflection of you." ~~~

~~~ Old Woman Solstice hears every word Albion speaks though she sits in her cottage spinning and weaving the winter night on her loom. With each thread she weaves - midnight blues of sapphire, cobalt and indigo, and then, as the night continued to deepen, the blacks of raven wings, ebony, onyx and sable - she places a star as a marker for each wolf to find their way back from the land of dreams to their home in Rynver Woods.