Alpine Folklore Novels & Stories

He was more than pleased. A curious eagle flew above him. Albin returned the stare. The eagle went his way, Albin continued down the path. The nearby village was the last stop for supplies, until Talmir village that was a few days of walk north from it. A few days of walk, for a fast runner not an average man loaded with stuff or with a woman and a child. But it's a common measure in these parts; everything is a few days walk in any direction. He was near the Forest, as the local people call this place. A few brave souls would venture in these parts. The forest was mostly covered in shades that were refreshing, but it had a price. People are known to disappear in these parts. Albin looked at

"Trust me, I've hiked this mountain before." I glanced back at the group, now engaged in animated conversation and completely oblivious to our departure. "Sylvan, we need to go back." Instead of responding, Sylvan's expression turned serious. "Did you know that during the new moon, feral wolves hunt lone she-wolves in these mountains?" I froze. "What?" "Pack legend," he continued, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "They say you can hear the howls of their victims echoing through the valleys on quiet nights."

Right at the border. They knew, the mountains are located in the far north, and before entering that area…they had to pass through a pack, the village above the clouds…they had heard of the pack through the chatter of the elders when they are teenagers. Pack above the clouds is an exciting story of werewolves who hunt in the land above the clouds, because of their remote location and difficulty to access, even by animals. The elders said that whoever lived there had to get used to not eating for days…and sometimes they only ate salted fish…to make it last longer, just hearing about it they are disgusted. Even though they don't know for sure the truth about that.

I ask as he chops the top off the head of his garlic and moves to sprinkle salt on two steaks. “Not anything that seemed remotely real,” he says, walking over to me and handing me a knife. “Chop this” He hands me a stick with tiny green leaves and I frown. “I thought we weren’t eating from the meadow.” He laughs softly. “It's rosemary and thyme sprigs. They are herbs for flavor, Ali. Not a weed, I promise.” I look at him skeptically but do as I’m told. “When I was a kid my parents would tell us old folklore. Stories about things in the woods that would steal our wolves if we were naughty, but one that always stood out was the stories of what was called an Ultima.”

I trip over a branch and fall. “We can not be the pack with The Ultima! Everyone will come in search of you, to use you as the weapon you are.” I look up at him with one eye. The ultima? Ultima’s are folklore that my great-grandma used to tell us about. The ghost stories of the wolf that came now and then to help replenish the werewolf community with the gift of recruiting humans to be wolves based on their skill sets. Well, until the last Ultima, that is.

She finally managed to speak out some words. “It is a story that has been handed down through generations of our kind. We generally find that all folklore comes from a grain of truth but regardless, it is a starting point we can use to begin to decipher your bloodline” Luna carefully places a bookmark between the pages and shut the book, placing it on the small tee table in front of her. Luna suddenly noticed they Valerie is perplexed with all that she has been storying to her, she decided to change the topic. Veda was losing herself in the story.

Alpine is surely not expecting what Drake was about to ask him. He wants Drake to stay here as much as his brother and Nyra does. So he is surprised when he heard Drake's request. "I want your help to regain Nyra's memories" Drake asked, shocking Alpine. "What? But why so suddenly? They will come back on their own Accord" Alpine argued. Drake sighed and shook his head. Alpine dosen't know what happened in the summer palace last night. Not even Alvin does. As Drake still believes that Alvin dosen't know that he is a dragon, he couldn't actually tell him everything. So that leaves Alpine, who knows everything since the beginning.

Like I was shopping for bedtime stories instead of trying to decide whether my life had cracked open into impossibility. “Thank you,” I murmured. The folklore section was tucked into a quiet corner near a window that looked out toward the forest. Of course it did. The books there were a strange little army: weathered hardcovers, thin local history pamphlets, glossy paperbacks with titles involving moons and curses and women who looked poorly dressed for weather. I started with the serious looking ones. Northern Appalachian Folk Beliefs, Predator Myths of the American East, Silver, Salt, and Blood: Ritual Materials in Regional Lore. I pulled them down one by one, making a stack against my che

I just dwell on the thought that he had his own problems to deal with. A flurry of activities unfolded in the recent days. Women and children diligently wove fur garments, creating an abundance of them. Rolls of cotton and leather baskets were crafted with precision. The werewolves showcased remarkable resilience and survival skills in the cold environment. During my limited stay here, I had already endured three fevers, and I couldn't help but suspect that another might be on the horizon. A significant part of me blamed Knight for dragging me beneath the rain, seemingly forgetting that, unlike him, I wasn't a werewolf. Glancing around, I observed both women and individuals engrossed in thei

It’s almost painful to watch. “I was speaking with Akin earlier, and I think there’s something you all should know,” Caelan says, his gaze sweeping over us with that well-practiced charm. “The Bright Waters are, well, they’re a myth. An old story. Something to lure outsiders deep into the mountains where only death awaits. It’s an Oceanean tale told to keep people out.”