Once upon a time, in a time long forgotten, in a time where the animals and humans and otherlings lived as one, there was a man who lived in the forest named Paul.

Paul was a protector of the woods. Borne of the trees, he lived in servitude to them, and in return for his faithfulness, the trees gave to Paul abundantly. But while Paul was able to live comfortably among his tree brethren for some forty-odd years--even without a girlfriend--the forest was also a dark and dangerous place.

It happened one morning as Paul was gathering sticks for his lantern that he came across something peculiar. In a part of the forest that was dark and overgrown, he found a ground nest in the thicket. And while he was not used to seeing animals in this particular area, there, in a circle of tamped shrubbery, was a puppy.

The puppy was curled up with its nose tucked under one of its haunches. Paul approached the puppy, and while it looked startled, it appeared too weak to run. Shivering, it raised its head with what little strength it had, and gazed at Paul with steely blue eyes. At first, the puppy’s eyes and light grey fur startled Paul, and thinking the puppy might be a ghost, he hesitated. But after the puppy curled back up, he could see that it was tired and afraid, and Paul took the puppy in his arms and carried it back to his cabin.

At the cabin, Paul placed the puppy at the hearth of the fire and fed the coals with fresh logs. He then went to the kitchen and lit the woodstove, where he heated a stew of goat’s cream, mashed acorn, and pine sap. Paul didn’t have very sophisticated tastes. But he was a kind man, and he spoonfed the puppy until little by little it regained its strength. Within a few days, the glaze had burned off the puppy’s eyes and its crystalline blue irises sparkled with an intense knowingness. Because of its otherworldly eyes and ghastly grey fur, Paul named the small puppy Geist.

Under Paul’s care, Geist grew strong and became Paul’s loyal companion. She would hunt rabbits and gophers in the forest, while Paul picked fruits and berries and harvested fallen timber for the fire. On her hunts, Geist would disappear deep into the forest, but at Paul’s call would always return, bounding toward him with her bellowing, sonorous WOOF, broad-chested, lean, and strong.

Geist and Paul lived like this for three years, but in their fourth season together, the forest did not provide enough for the two of them. Without much to eat, they both became spindly and thin. Though Paul knew he would be cared for, for it was his birthright among the trees, he feared for Geist. Her exposed ribs expanded with great effort while she breathed, and though she could still stand tall, her front breast muscles had withered, and the skin hung tightly to the bones in her chest. Once again, the brightness in Geist’s eyes began to dull.

Paul had grown to love young Geist, and so, one cold and bitter morning he left for a walk among the trees while she slept. He appealed to the forest to help her. In reply, there came a strong wind that shook the bare branches, and the trees spoke to Paul. They agreed to help Geist. They would take her to the High Garden, where she could live in abundance as Paul had all these years.

Returning home, Paul found Geist curled up by the fire. He remembered the first time he saw her, the small and spindly ghost, shivering and cold and afraid. And now, sleeping in front of the crackling embers, she seemed to him again like that young puppy. He went to her and with tears in his eyes picked her up and carried her outside. The trees took Geist in their bare branches and carried her away, never to see Paul again.

-

When Geist awoke, she found herself in a beautiful garden. Rabbits frolicked through greenery, grapes hung fat from vines ascending trees, and there was life all around, bountiful and splendid.

Coming to her feet, Geist saw she was lying under a tree shading a spring. The spring was filled with water so clean that Geist was overcome with an urge to drink. But when she came to the edge of the spring, she saw something strange. A figure moved toward her from its depths. It was a woman. And she was looking up at Geist from under the water and smiling.

The woman continued to rise until she slipped through the water’s surface with such perfection as not to cause a single ripple in its glassy surface. When she had fully risen from the spring, she walked across the water to Geist, again never disturbing the water’s smooth surface. When she reached the bank, she looked down at Geist and said, “Welcome to High Garden. I am Eydra. You have been brought to this place because you are loved. And now, you will be my companion, as you once were in the forest below.”

Eydra then explained to Geist that she was the stewardess of High Garden, and that living here, Geist was free to live as she pleased. However, there was one stipulation. Geist must never drink from this particular spring. To do so would mean being cast from High Garden and returned to the dark forest.

Geist agreed, and in short time she regained her strength, and the brilliance returned to her piercing eyes. For the passing of three cycles, Geist acted as faithful companion to Eydra, hunting hares and eating her fill of wild berries and plump grapes--which Geist could eat as only a small percentage of dogs have been known to suffer acute renal failure from the tartaric acid in grapes, and luckily Geist wasn’t one of them--and her bellowing Woof became cherished by Eydra and all of High Garden. When night would fall, Geist would curl up under the tree that fed from Eydra’s spring and sleep. So I guess you could say things were looking good for little Geist.

But one morning Eydra came with unexpected news. She would be traveling to Cold Mountain to meet with the elves and nymphs of gabledeegoosh, as they had much to garble about. She would not return for two and a half fortnights, and in her absence, Eydra would leave Geist to protect High Garden and act as stewardess in her absence. Geist accepted her position and Eydra was off.

With Eydra at Cold Mountain, Geist passed the days chasing deer and wandering High Garden. But one morning, after an unusually early hunt, Geist returned to her tree before dusk. Admiring the tranquil spring, she put her snout close to the water’s surface. She exhaled and watched tiny ripples move out across the water in a widening cone. She saw her reflection in the spring. Her sparkling blue eyes, the ghost-like color of her fur. And beyond that, she saw the spring’s greenish rocky bottom, perfectly visible through the cool and pure waters. What was one drink, Geist thought. Eydra needn’t know. And in that pivotal moment, Geist did the one thing she had been warned never to do.

She put her mouth to the water and drank.

-

When Eydra returned, Geist was nowhere to be seen. Thinking she must be off hunting, she called for her across High Garden. Curiously, there was no answer, and so she called for her again. This time, Eydra saw Geist, trotting toward her from the vineyard with her head low and eyes pointed to the ground.

“Geist. You have taken great care of High Garden in my absence. The plants are vibrant, the animals fair and warm, and yet you will not look at me. Whatever is the matter?”

Eydra reached down and took Geist’s snout in her hand, raising her head to meet her eyes. Then she saw what had happened. The brilliant blue of Geist’s eyes was gone, and they were completely white, as if she were blind. “Geist, your eyes! You have drunk from the clear spring! Tell me it isn’t so!”

Geist was ashamed and barked No.

“Do not lie to me, Geist! Your eyes have been flushed of color from the powerful, clear waters! You have drunk from the clear spring!”

Still, Geist denied her transgression, for she did not wish to be cast from High Garden and the loving side of Eydra.

“Very well,” Eydra said. “You say no, but your eyes speak truth. Your fate is as clear as the waters of this spring. You are to be cast from High Garden. And I will take your bark, so you can no longer speak falsehoods to those who care for you. You have been a faithful companion, Geist, but now it is time for you to go.” And with that, the trees of Earth reached into High Garden and carried Geist back into the cold and dark wood.

-

Awakening in the forest, Geist made haste. She knew she could not survive alone and wandered all through the night and next morning until she found her way out of the woods. She came to a moor where she saw a shepherd, his cattle dog, and a few sheep grazing the rough land.

Geist went and sat before the shepherd, looking up with him with her blank white eyes. “A spectre,” the shepherd said, astonished. But Geist shook her head. “Speak,” he commanded, but Geist could not, as Eydra had taken her bark. The shepherd called to his sheep dog and had it take Geist to the stables. There, she was given water and a place to lie. After a night’s sleep, she would begin her work for the shepherd in the morning.

In the coming weeks, Geist worked for the shepherd alongside the cattle dog. She learned the village had fallen on difficult times. There was disease; rats scurried along dirt roads and into the cribs of starving children at night, and the people were tired and worn. But having a place to sleep and nowhere else to go, Geist chose to stay at the shepherd’s side.

After some months, Geist gave birth to a litter of three puppies. Two carried the colorings of the cattle dog, and one was a monotone grey like Geist, and all had brilliant, sparkling blue eyes. Because of this, some of the villagers believed the puppies to be cursed, the offspring of a witch--the shepherd’s ghost dog. The shepherd denied these accusations, but still the townies grew wary and distrustful of the pack. Geist did her best to serve her master and provide for her puppies, but provisions were scant, and Geist’s strength was fading by the day.

One evening, while the puppies were asleep in a stable, Geist awoke to a voice calling her name from outside the barn. She followed the voice, and what she saw startled her. It was Eydra, drifting toward her across the low-lying fog.

“I have seen you serve your master well, Geist,” she said, “and am here to invite you back to High Garden. All you must do is tell me the truth--that you drank from the spring. Do this, and I shall take you from this destitute place to once again sit at my side as my companion.”

Eydra then returned Geist’s bark so that she may confess her misgivings. But before answering, Geist looked back toward the barn. Her sleeping puppies were there, and she could not leave them here. She looked back to Eydra with her blank, white eyes and once again denied drinking from the spring.

“Very well,” she said. “Stay. But for your continued falsehoods, I will also take one of your puppies.” This frightened Geist, but before she could react, Eydra flew to the barn, took one of the bicolored pups, and disappeared into the foggy moor.

The next morning, the cattle dog awoke to find one of his offspring missing. In a frantic search, he ran to and fro across the property, eventually finding Geist asleep under a tree at the edge of the moor. He asked her what had happened, but without her bark, Geist was unable to say. She could only stare with her white, blind eyes, and the cattle dog suddenly filled with suspicion toward her. He suspected she knew, but would not tell, and began to wonder if perhaps the town folk were right about the spectre from the forest.

Geist stayed with her two remaining puppies and cared for them as best she could. But the town was falling deeper into despair. The inhabitants cursed at Geist and her pups, sometimes kicking at the young ones, making them run away with their tails tucked between their legs. Geist feared for her younglings. Even after giving everything she had, it was not enough.

One night, Eydra returned to Geist and said again, “Tell me you drank from the spring, and live by my side. If you shan’t, I will take another of your litter from you, and leave you here in this terrible place.” Again Geist denied drinking from the spring, and Eydra snatched another of the pups, leaving behind the young grey ghost dog with her withering mother.

In finding another of his offspring gone, the cattle dog challenged Geist. He accused her of witchery, of eating the puppies, of worse. Geist, unable to bark, could not defend herself, and so the cattle dog ran to the shepherd, who then grew frightened of her. He chained Geist to a post outside the barn where she lay in the mud, and the cattle dog took the last puppy from her and kept it with him in the barn.

When night fell, Eydra again appeared to Geist, who was now weary and thin. For the final time, she offered to free Geist, to give her a life in High Garden, but again she refused, knowing Eydra would take her last child and leave her here alone to die. “Very well,” she said, and scooped up the sleeping puppy from the barn, vanishing into the night.

Finding the third puppy gone, the cattle dog ran for his master. The shepherd came, accused Geist of witchery, and dragged her by her chain to the center of town. He stood on the edge of the town well, polluted with the town’s impoverishment, and cried, “This dog is bewitched!” He called for execution and placed Geist in a cage hanging above the well. With nothing left to give, she stared off at the crowd with her lifeless, white eyes. The town folk were dirty and gaunt, hardened by the struggles of their time; they spewed hate at Geist, threw stones at her, cheered vehemently as the cage was lowered into the cold and putrid water, their voices only muted to her once she was completely submerged.

Geist looked up toward the sky, which appeared to ripple from beneath the surface of the water. She calmy held her last breath until finding something high in the clouds that gave her the peace to let go. Three pairs of brilliant blue eyes, frolicking gaily in High Garden, away from the pain and suffering of a cruel world and failing land.

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