The following night was restless.
Not in the sky, nor in the snow…
in the workshop.
A draft had crept in through a window that was properly closed.
He circled around the human objects that had already arrived:
ear muffs ,
the twisted hat,
and even the little candle of Saint Lucia.
Pipette shrugged her shoulders.
— “It sounds like… a wind searching for something.”
Ludo shivered.
— “Or someone.”
Rudolf raised his head. His ears twitched — a sign of powerful magic.
— “That wind doesn’t come from here.”
It blows from the world of humans… but not from a house, nor from a market.
He comes from a passageway.
The Magic Compass began to turn slowly, as if following an invisible breath.
Then the portal glittered with a cold, almost metallic, silver light.
A new window opened:
✨ A bridge lined with lights
✨ a calm river
✨ tall facades
✨ Silhouettes on bicycles despite the cold
✨ a constant wind gliding between the streets
Pipette blinked.
— “Is that… the Netherlands?”
Rudolf nodded.
— “Rotterdam… Utrecht… or a village near the dikes. There, the wind is an inhabitant. It speaks. It guides.”
A group of humans passed by, clutching their hats against the gusts of wind.
Among them, a child was carrying something that caught Ludo's eye:
a black, flexible balaclava that protected the head and neck.
Groubelin smiled.
— “A fabric armor against the wind. They call it… a balaclava.”
The gate vibrated.
And like the previous items,
The balaclava crossed the border.
It landed on a shelf, without a sound.
But the air around her… seemed less cold.
Pipette took it in her hands.
It was like holding a fragment of a gentle night.
Rudolf approached.
— “This human protection could help us get through the portal currents.
Because you can't follow the light... if you can't go through the wind.
The elves understood that the path was still moving forward:
We had to learn how to protect ourselves.
as humans had learned long ago.