The legend of Dwerkivir

The fire crackles softly, its glow casting dancing shadows across the circle. The forest looms just beyond the light, its ancient trees whispering secrets that only the wind can carry. The old ranger, worn by years of wandering the woods, leans forward, his voice low and steady.

"You ever hear the legend of Dwerkivir? It’s an old one. Older than any of us, older than the kingdoms, older than the forest paths themselves."

He stirs the fire with a stick, sending embers swirling into the night sky. The flames reflect in his eyes as he continues.

"They say Dwerkivir was once a spirit, bound to the woods, as beautiful and wild as the forest itself. But she fell in love with a mortal; who knows, maybe a ranger, just like us. The story goes, they met in secret, away from the prying eyes of the forest. But the elders, they found out. The elders... well, no one knows exactly who or what they were. Just that they were old. Older than the trees, older than time itself. And they didn’t take kindly to one of their own falling in love with a mortal."

He pauses, letting the fire crackle in the silence.

"They cursed them, you see. Dwerkivir was bound to an ancient oak, forever trapped, and her lover... they say he became a treant that roams the forest to this day. The two of them, always longing for one another, but never able to be together."

The ranger looks around the circle, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

"I’ve never seen them myself, but the legend says if you walk deep enough into the forest on a still night, you can hear the wind carrying their cries. They say the elders still watch over their curse, making sure no one dares to break it. And no one ever has."

He leans back, the firelight flickering over his weathered face.

"Those elders... Religious people call them Spirits. They say they still dwell in the depths of the woods.

So, if you ever hear the wind whispering too close, best not listen too long. The forest has secrets, and some are better left alone."