Far along the amethyst trail of the haunted forest…
Through the haunted forest, along the path of willows, I follow my guide. Her face is old and lined, she is a tiny figure clad in white fur and amethysts, leading the way. She leads me to a clearing and there at its centre stands an ancient chest, and it has stood here for a long time. It is a darkened wooden chest, banded with rusted iron. I lift the heavy lid, and within there lies the shining purity of a White Bear Cloak.
This cloak is worn by one who has the steadfast endurance of the Bear, who carries the vow of fidelity and loyal service. This is the steadfast listening of the rocks, stones and crystals who always lie beneath, forming the beautiful ordinariness of our ground. This is the vow of the expanses of ice that remain frozen for aeons, holding an enduring constellation of wisdom for our atmospheres.
This is an end to the broken vows, the discarded butterfly wings, the perpetual transience and alteration.
I throw the cloak around my shoulders. Its weight settles: an untarnished, vast purity hanging around me.