The old man had lived outside of town for as long as anyone could remember, not on the road, mind; you'd never find his place if you started there by road. There was a path that some said they could never see unless the moon was full or the sun was near solstice. But there were things he could do that made him worth looking for. If your child was sick, say, or your milch cow was in trouble with her calf. He'd fix 'em right up, no question. If your intended had a sudden change of heart, that was less certain, but the old man was still your best path back to loving harmony. Usually, a bucket of beer was all he'd ask in return - maybe a hogshead of mead if you'd put off asking too long.

And it was easy to put off asking. The eyes of that old man never seemed to be the same color. There was something behind those eyes. Something unyielding and determined- some might say 'hungry.' The old man was always mumbling about the trees, the wind, or the living rock. And those skulls tied to the cross beam of the cave that he made you wait outside if you dared to visit him? How could that be good?

Still, there were plenty of folks in town who, for the asking, would tell you of the time they were in need, and in the full light of day without any taint of shadow, the old man had shown them kindness, even sharing that bucket of beer while he probed with questions until he fully understood the way the magic needed to go.

Yes, the old man had disappeared into the cave, yes, he'd told them to wait, yes, time had slid away from them, and yes, his eyes had changed from green, to blue to gray, but in the end, when they returned home, their cough was gone, or the cow had a brand new calf.