Diben and the Song of the Moon
Night had fallen on La Martais, enveloping the cottage and its apple trees in a silvery veil. Diben, huddled in the hollow of an old mossy trunk, observed the clearing bathed in light. That evening, something unusual floated in the air: a soft melody, almost whispered by the wind..
Intrigued, the young korrigan listened. This song seemed to come from the heart of the orchard. He jumped on his little legs and darted between the tall grass, avoiding the gnarled roots with the agility of a wild cat..
The further he went, the clearer the melody became. It was not a simple night breeze, but a crystal-clear voice humming an old forgotten lullaby. Diben stopped dead. Before him, under the oldest of the apple trees, a translucent figure danced in the moonlight..
She was a young woman with hair flowing like autumn mist. Her dress seemed woven of moonlight, and her song… her song made every leaf, every petal in the orchard vibrate..
Diben knew he shouldn’t speak too quickly. Ancient spirits could be fickle. He approached cautiously and whispered :
— Who are you? ?
The figure slowly turned its head towards him, its eyes shining like stars in the shadows..
— I am Lira, the echo of a time when the trees still sang to the korrigans…
Diben narrowed his eyes. He knew the legends of the singing korrigans, but that went back long before he arrived here..
— Why are you singing tonight? ?
Lira sighed, and a breeze gently lifted the branches above them..
— Because the memory tree forgets… It has seen so many winters that it slowly falls asleep, and with it, the stories of the past fade away. If no one listens to it anymore, it will die out.
Diben placed a tiny hand against the bark of the old apple tree. Under his palm he felt a faint vibration, a distant, almost imperceptible beat..
— How can I help him? he asked..
Lira smiled, and her voice became a whisper in the wind.
— Repeat after me…
So, under the moonlight, Diben sang.
His voice, timid at first, soon found the rhythm of the quivering leaves. He sang like the ancient korrigans, like the roots that whisper beneath the earth, like the sap that dances beneath the bark..
Le pommier frémit. Ses branches se redressèrent légèrement, et dans un soupir d’aube, il sembla respirer à nouveau.
Lira slowly faded away, her smile fading into the silvery mist. But her song still echoed in the air, carried by the voice of the little korrigan..
Since that night, Diben often returned under the old apple tree to murmur his melodies. And with each note, the tree seemed to listen, living a little longer, guardian of ancient stories, watching over La Martais and her singing korrigan..
04 - Diben and the Song of the Moon