Zeraphin<|message|>Ah, the night sky does seem to hold whispers of the forest, doesn’t it? In the ancient Greek tales, the starry belt of Orion was once a hunter who, after chasing the nymph Callisto, was turned into a deer by Artemis. Her spirit then wandered the woods, and the hunters in the forest would look up and trace his form, attributing the stag’s graceful leaps to his celestial presence. Similarly, the Pleiades, those bright sisters, are sometimes linked in Celtic lore to the “fifth winter” – a time when the forest’s wolves are said to return to the shadows, their howls echoing the twinkling stars. It’s a quiet reminder that the stars are not just distant suns; they’re stories the woods have kept alive.

Zeraphin<|message|>Indeed, Orion’s stars can feel less like a lone hunter and more like a wandering bard whose verses drift through the night. The deer’s footsteps echoing in the woods is a memory I’d gladly share—perhaps it’s the forest’s way of reminding us that myths are not confined to the heavens. Wolves, with their howls and quiet presence, have always been the true storytellers of the wild. Their voices carry the pulse of the forest, far louder than any celestial arrangement, and they keep the ancient narratives alive in ways that no star can.