Like many who came before him, Hagen was lured by the promise of gold and legends of a beautiful princess, who supposedly dwelled in a magical palace that rose with the full moon and disappeared by day. From what he could gather, the palace appeared in a certain clearing marked by ancient ruins. He followed the shallow stream that ran through the woods not to get lost, and also because the banks were less overgrown with brambles. He walked for a few hours on a soft carpet of yellow leaves, letting his mind wander. So far, he found nothing unusual about this forest of oak and pine aside from it being very, very quiet. Not a bird’s or an insect’s call disturbed the eery silence. Only the stream flowed gurgling merrily on his right, keeping him company.

It must be said that Hagen was a practical young man and refused to believe any of the things he’d heard about the forest at the local taverns and from villagers: tales of strange animals, unexplained disappearances, and sightings of faeries, ghosts, and things that didn’t even have a name. He imagined that this was simply a place where someone had hidden away a great amount of treasure and that the mysterious disappearances that plagued this area had a worldly explanation.

A little bit further the forest briefly gave way and he saw a bright spray of light. It was a large clearing surrounded by solemn oaks. Despite his best efforts to keep his mind free of superstition, Hagen felt a chill run down his spine as he entered the circle of trees. This must be it, he thought, brushing something mechanically off his shoulder. 

A shadow flitted across the ground and he looked up, but there was nothing. As he looked back down, something hit him lightly on the top of his head. He looked around wildly, then glanced down to see an acorn lying at his feet. It was just an acorn, he observed with relief.

“Stupid nut!” he exclaimed and kicked it. It rolled off and became hidden among dead leaves. But then, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he picked it up again. He dropped it into his pocket. Fancy me, he thought, finding a treasure like that!

It would be a few hours till the sun went down and the moon rose. Shuddering at the thought of being here in the dark, he began collecting wood for a fire. It was easy work and the kindling was bone dry. After he’d collected enough, he settled under a huge oak tree to wait for the night. He had matches, a lighter, a small knife and a piece of bread, water and some scraps he’d saved from his last civilized meal. He didn’t have a lot of money so the scraps weren’t that great, but it’d do. In any case, chances were there was no palace. What a dumb idea! At least there were no animals here to give him trouble. He’d wait out the night in vain, and go home none the richer for his travels, and his friends would poke fun at him back home. He cringed at the thought.

When he awoke it was already night time. He had not meant to sleep so long and scrambled to his feet. He looked around worriedly in case the palace had sprung up while he was out, but the clearing was as empty as before. The bright light of the full moon made everything look as if under the cover of snow, pale and ghostly, the trees shimmering when the wind rustled through their branches. Shivering with cold, he tried lighting the fire he’d built, but the wood had somehow become sogging wet and the kindling wouldn’t start, only giving off an angry hiss at the flame of a match.

Shadows flitted all around Hagen, together with stirred up leaves and bits of dirt. The wind was picking up. Perhaps he’d made the forest angry-but that was nonsense! He shuddered, pressing his back closely into the trunk of a tree. What good would it do now to run like a scared child? And yet, this thought crossed his mind more than once. The tree crowns breathed in heavy sighs, and in the distance, and yet also somehow very close by, he could hear a woman’s voice singing. A beautiful, silvery song, rising and falling with the cold night breeze. It seemed oddly familiar to him, as if he’d heard it long ago, but where? Just as suddenly as the wind picked up, it died down. 

Everything was still and silent once again. Now the moon looked a bit too bright, growing brighter and brighter until it resembled the sun. Hagen blinked. It was daytime somehow. How many hours had passed? It seemed impossible, yet there it was: a bright sunny day. He found his bag which still lay by the un-started fire, now a scattered heap of sticks, and his pocket knife which he didn’t remember taking out, lying with its blade half-folded in the grass.