Two well-worn paths lay directly in front of Odin. He must choose. This was the most difficult decision he had ever faced in his young life, and the burden weighing heavily on him was paralyzing.
Faceless phantoms galloping through the oppressive fog tormented Odin. How could he think with such chaos raging around him? Two paths, so simple, but he must decide on one. He was being challenged to make a judgment call that could mean life or death for Laelia. Punga climbed up Odin’s wet beard and onto his shoulder. Close to Odin’s ear, he warned his friend he could not linger. “You have a sixth sense, your intuition, listen to its voice,” Punga whispered. “Watch for nature’s signs.”
But Odin was not listening. He only felt his own pain. A cry surged into his throat; tears flooded his eyes, turning his round nose red. He sank down on the soggy, cold ground. Reaching for his flute, he escaped into its sad notes; possibly his music would sing away the darkness. Punga, his exhortations falling on deaf ears, nestled in his friend’s beard and patiently waited. It was a long wait. The night ended and Punga watched over and comforted Odin as he slept fitfully through the next day.
With a new nightfall arriving, Punga once again desperately tried to guide his friend’s thoughts. He told Odin, “You have to look squarely into the ugly face of fear. You will see its face is not so ugly after all, and your courage will return.” Punga knew that only Odin could conquer his own fears.
Numb from his loss of courage and the fear controlling his mind, Odin stared into the foggy night and once again lost himself in his music. In the cold darkness, he saw before him wispy green vapors. He put his flute aside and watched as the green mist, along with a gust of wind, chased the fog from the sky. The lingering scent of jasmine drove away the bog’s graveyard of foul odors. Odin sat still and listened. A calm voice, intertwined with the wind, gently sighed, “Study the night sky!”
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Holding on tight to Odin’s beard, Punga also felt the gentle wind and heard a faint female voice. He perched himself high on Odin’s shoulder to get a clear view of the vast space. As he looked up, the sky’s black curtain parted to reveal orange streamers of light crowned with gold sparks. Its effervescence burned across the darkness in a northerly direction. Punga knew the brilliant scatterings were the sign Odin needed to make his decision. He tugged at Odin’s whiskers, making sure he was also looking into the sky.
Moments later a ballet of blushing crimsons glided across the heavens. Ribbons of light, rippling and radiating into an extravaganza of pale yellows, blossomed into blood reds. Ghostly bodies danced in their swirling skirts of wondrous blues and delicate greens, then stopped and hovered as if waiting for the audience’s applause.
Punga knew this drama was the coming together of solar winds high in the atmosphere of planet Ode. The magnificent display of nature’s forces, powered by the planet’s magnetic field, exploded across the cold northern sky. The magnetosphere’s sorcery of mystery and magic created the lights of the “aurora borealis.”
Odin felt the air tingle and his skin felt prickly from the electrifying forces surrounding him. Magical powers embraced his body, delivering the strength he needed. He told Punga they would follow the green lights laced with red that surged across the blackness. The paralyzing fear controlling Odin’s mind and body vanished the moment he made his decision. He trotted down the twisted path that took them north. Unbeknown to Odin and Punga, ahead of them was a power just as strong as that they were watching in the sky—the mind of an old witch.