MagiStream

The Old Man On the Mountain

Once upon a time, there was a magi who lived in a high, cold mountain range. He loved the snow,
ad the view from his house on the mountain's side, and being left alone to study his magics without
people bothering him. Most of all, he loved the various creatures who shared the range with him.
He watched happily from the porch of his house as lovely great birds of prey soared overhead, or
listened to wild cats' roars off in the distance. After all, what was the use in being a great and wise old sorcerer(whose bones ached, truth be told, and eyes weren't as good as they had been just a few centuries ago), if you couldn't do as you pleased?
He also kept animals in the house, or in a small barn behind it. They were a white horse, and the goat that someone had given him as payment for a love spell, years ago.
They had a bad habit of not minding him, yet, he loved them too. So he didn't complain too much.
He wasn't rich, but he wasn't hungry, or poor.
One day, he was sitting on his porch, studying a scroll, when his little goat came up to him. Usually, that might mean that the goat was hungry, and so the magi quickly put the scroll out of reach before
he looked at the goat.
He scratched the animal's head gently. "Yes? What do you want, now?" Then he half-closed his faded blue eyes, and listened, hearing what went on his pet's head.
The animal was in pain. The magi scowled, and got up, his knees creaking as he stood.
The goat's leg had been pierced by an arrow. The shaft had broken off, but the arrowhead was driven in.
Muttering words of annoyance that made sparks shoot out of his beard,and the sky overhead turn dark, the old man nonetheless was gentle and careful as he lifted the goat in his arms and carried it inside. He laid it down on a warm pile of blankets, soothing away the pain with a touch from fingers that glowed under the skin.
It wasn't hard at all to fix the wound, or get that blasted arrowhead out. In less than an hour or so, the goat was racing happily outside as if it had never been hurt.
Yet, the magi now had to realize that whether or not he wanted to be left alone by other humans, it wasn't going to happen. So he sat down, never mind that there wasn't a chair beneath him, his legs crossed while he floated in midair, and thought about how to keep his beloved creatures safer.

He thought over all the lore he knew, and finally decided that the best thing to do, would be to
give part of his magic to each of them. That way, whatever gift he gave them, would last, even if he wasn't there anymore.

He started with the animals he had in the house. To the goat, who loved climbing, and foraging for new plants, he gave a pair of strong, curly horns, and long legs with powerful hooves that would let it climb anywhere on the mountain it wanted to go. He shared part of his magic, too, giving the Ibex more protection against cold and hunger.

To the white horse, he gave a pair of huge, strong, graceful white wings, mixed in with a portion of the man's own spells, to make it easier for the now-winged horse to see even at great distances, and to endure cold and thinner air in high places.

The hawks that sometimes perched on his roof, became touched with fire, glowing brightly and burning as hot as a sun.

The cats were the only ones he had no chance to change. He barely had finished with the fire magic
when he looked far, far down the mountain, and saw smoke. It was followed by troops of men in armor, and he could pick out a few among them wearing magi robes or carrying staffs.
The kingdom he lived in had been peaceful, up until now.
It was no longer. He sighed, and released the birds, urging them to go. He did the same with his goat, and horse, all but driving them away.
They escaped.
The Ibex went deeper into the mountains, finding a cave to sleep in, while the worst of winter rolled over them. Food was scarce, but he survived, and later, his kids, who were also changed by the
kind old man's magic, did as well. There might not be hay, or scrolls, to nibble on, but there was sweet grass.

The creatures never saw the old man again, but none of them ever forgot the legends of the Magi who had made the first of their kind, or the kindness they had been shown.
Magical creatures tell stories, too, in their own way.