Hag of Anore

They say the Hag of Anore walks along the forest mist at dusk: hair wild as wind, eyes reflecting stars. Villagers whisper warnings — that she summons rain, storms, shapes lightning in her palm. But in truth her magic is softer: she lifts drought from crack-dried soil, sings to wounded deer, weaves moonlight through branches to guide lost children home.   Her hut stands on stilts over moss-dripped water, candles lit with sky-runed sigils, herbs hung to dry from exposed rafters. When storms gather—thunder rumbling like old bones—folk remember her not as tempter of skies, but as steward: sky-wrath tempered, clouds eased, rain shared.   Outsiders may fear the “hags,” but in Anore they are counselor, healer, sky-seer: worshipper of sky gods, yes—but also keeper of balance, voice of forest, one who bears beauty and power in places where both are often feared.