This is a folktale I wrote to accompany a longer work I am still writing.
Long ago, the stories said, a magician walked in the woods, singing to all the animals she saw. The songs could be heard all over the forest and all the animals would flock to her to hear the song. People, too, heard the song echoing into town, and they came as well. When they did, the song would stop, for no human audience was wanted. When the magician returned to own, the people questioned her. “Why cannot we hear your lovely song?” they would ask, to which she would reply: “You cannot hear.”
The magician was then said to go into the forest and paint, and all the animals would come to see her work. After spending hours secreting herself away from the townspeople, she would emerge and return home, only to leave to paint at sunrise the next day. When her neighbors questioned her why they could not see the artwork, they got only this as an answer: “You cannot see.”
Being rejected twice now, the curiosity of the people became indignity. They were offended that the magician thought herself superior then the rest of them, so one day when the magician went to work in the forest a small group followed her. Deeper and deeper the magician delved into the wood, until suddenly there was a glade. What a beautiful glade it was; the sun adorned every flower with a golden glow, and the animals of the forest sat around in a circle, as patient as eternity. The people trailing could hardly believe their eyes, and soon they too came out of hiding and joined the circle, mesmerized by the magician’s every move. The colors were said to bend and dance on the canvas, creating a moving tapestry of unearthly quality. The hours passed like heartbeats, and all too soon the magician packed up her supplies and made for the town. All the animals dispersed, save for four. Where the pursuers once stood there was now a doe, a sow, a serpent and a mouse, and only now were they aware of their transformations.
The four animals followed the magician back to town, where she was confronted by her neighbors and their angry questions. “Where have they gone? Where are the people who followed you?” The magician responded by indicating the four animals who followed her. “I know nothing of humans who followed me, but here are they who followed.” The townspeople were aghast. It was obvious to them that this was no magician; this was a witch. The witch was exiled, and her works stolen. When the people looked upon the witch’s work, they saw only a blank canvas. They concluded that the witch was never painting at all, just working her evil spells.
