Elin watched the amber glow of the fireplace dance in her father’s eyes. "Did she visit the bears first?"
He leaned closer, his voice becoming a soft trail of sound. "But the hardest part of Alva’s night was the wind. The North Wind was a wild pup back then, howling and chasing its own tail around the chimneys of houses just like ours. Alva didn't scold the wind. She simply sang a song of the deep forests—of roots growing deep and sap running slow. The wind, exhausted from its play, finally curled up in the branches of the oldest pine tree and fell fast asleep." Magnus Ludvigsson - Goodnight Story
"She did," Magnus nodded. "She flew over the Sarek mountains, where the Great Brown Bears were far too busy wrestling to think about slumber. Alva would glide down, low enough that her silver feathers brushed the tips of their ears. She would whisper a secret word—a word so soft it sounded like snow falling on moss. One by one, the bears would yawn, their heavy paws slowing, until they curled into furry boulders and began to dream of honey-rivers." Elin watched the amber glow of the fireplace
"Once," Magnus began, his voice dropping to a low, rhythmic rumble, "the moon wasn't a stone in the sky. It was a giant, silver owl named Alva. She didn't fly with wings; she flew with silence. And every night, Alva had a very important job to do before she could rest." The North Wind was a wild pup back
"Goodnight, little bird," he said from the doorway. "The owl is watching, and the forest is still."
