Sitting and listening to one of Nan's stories. She talks about how when she was a younger woman, she lives in a village that bordered on the wild grasslands. At night, the Chirbatti would rise over the hills, frolicking blinking in and out. The villagers all knew not to follow them, but the invaders did not. One night, there was a Preton regiment pass through. They made camp on the outskirts, laughing and drinking into the night, and brushing off the villagers' warnings of respecting the spirits, as they did not believe in such things.
The next morning, one of the soldiers had gone missing. A search party was only able to find his boots and jacket. Determining that foul play must have occurred, they searched the village, furious. They pulled aside one poor boy and hung him from a tree, declaring he was the cuplrit. Satsified, they left.
The villagers knew the boy had done nothing, however. They thought he had gotten lost chasing the chirbatti, or perhaps claimed by some angry vengeful spirit, upset at their disrespect for the lands.
As the years passed and the invaders changed the land, clearing trees, laying their railroad, and building their strange concrete and metal buildings, the chirbatti began to fade, appearing less and less often.
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The next morning, one of the soldiers had gone missing. A search party was only able to find his boots and jacket. Determining that foul play must have occurred, they searched the village, furious. They pulled aside one poor boy and hung him from a tree, declaring he was the cuplrit. Satsified, they left.
The villagers knew the boy had done nothing, however. They thought he had gotten lost chasing the chirbatti, or perhaps claimed by some angry vengeful spirit, upset at their disrespect for the lands.
As the years passed and the invaders changed the land, clearing trees, laying their railroad, and building their strange concrete and metal buildings, the chirbatti began to fade, appearing less and less often.
One day, they were gone.