I talked about how this demesne of mine is not mine alone in the previous blog post.

I share it with the spirits of the land.

I mentioned dryads and nymphs and the old gramps in the lake, but there are dozens of spirits inhabiting my territory.

Wolf, deer, rabbit spirits, the ancestral spirits of some human tribes that have lived here very long ago, the spirits of fire and the sylphs and even the fey - though only the lesser kind - as well as many many more.

So I am never really alone when I camp out.

Although to an uninitiated, it would certainly seem like I am.

I have talked about how great mages like me never ever use magic for purposes unrelated to magic itself, haven't I?

But what about magical beings, not mages?

What about spirits, for example?

Actually, I don't think I worded it correctly.

There are spirits in just about anything, and they are just about everywhere.

So it isn't quite right to call them "magical", or "supernatural" - just because mundane and blind sapient creatures are not capable of perceiving and interacting with them, it doesn't make them any more supernatural than the flow of water from high to low places is.

But they are capable of changing the local spacetime rules of causality in their own ways, which qualifies as a supernatural ability. And anything possessing supernatural abilities should be supernatural.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Anyway, the ancient and unresolves debate about classification of nature spirits is not important, what is important is that they also will not bend rules of reality for no strong reason.

So when I say "dryad", do not picture a well-endowed green-skinned woman that came out of a Japanese cartoon. Actually, even when I don't say "dryad" do not picture it. Like ever. Ugh.

Anyway, when I say "dryad", think a comforting presence in the silence of the forest that is interrupted by the occassional swaying branch.

When I say "playful nymph", think the mischievous droplets of water from a river or a stream as it rushes past you.

The regal and solemn, but also the deep and insightful patience of the still lake is the spirit of it. When you take the time to listen to its silence, it will say you much more than any amount of words ever could.

The spirits are everywhere and they will give you company and love and caring as long as you only notice them.

But they will not bend reality to materialise a higher primate body (that really evolved from a pig) to have a human talk with you.

I felt like I needed to clear it up with yous all, since I noticed where I was posting this blog.

After all, there was this guy who compared my real life experiences that I am writing here with your mortal pulp fiction fantasies in the comment section.

So I felt it only proper to clear up any misconceptions before they even occur.

But this great witch does enjoy camping out.

I mostly do it within my domain, a rogue witch squatting in your local forest could be taken as bad news and I do not wish to repeat that one incident back in 10th century France.

Still, what could beat lying on the soft ground covered with pins of the coniferous trees, seeing the endless skies above you, breathing in the freshest air and letting oneself just be free and unfettered, if even for a few short hours?

Mayhap only hiking up the mountains and coming across a clear stream of water hidden in a naturally occuring cave, and look down upon the boundless expanse of flat terrains intermingling with short hills and mountain ranges.

Or possibly taking a boat to the middle of a calm lake and fishing as the winds gently rock you across the crystal waves.

Then there is also meeting the Mother Night as she opens her treasured canvas with countless stars whimsically scattered all over.

In other words - what could compare with this freedom?