The Striker’s sacred grove

Once upon a time, in a quaint village on a windswept plain by the steel grey sea, there lived three close friends. Each faced their own trials and tribulations, struggling under the weight of misfortune and adversity. One fateful day, one of the friends found herself on the brink of despair as her family’s home lay in ruins, consumed by a raging inferno. Meanwhile, the second of the friends grappled with the devastation of his once-flourishing crops, now reduced to dust by a relentless fire. And the third one, a skilled horseman, watched helplessly as his stable burned down, the fire also taking his only horse – a prized steed. Seeking refuge from their perpetrators, and seeking solace and support, the three friends moved away from the seaside and converged in the very heart of the plain, unaware of the events about to unfold. Standing amidst the tranquil beauty of nature, they shared their sorrows, offered comfort to one another, and told stories about what their ancestors would’ve done in that situation, and they found strength in their shared bond of friendship. They promised to stay by each other’s side til the bitter end.

As they stood together, united in their resolve to overcome their challenges, a shadow fell over the them. Approaching with the wind from the sea were those responsible for their misfortunes – the Schadenfreude glowing as strong as the envy and jaundice in their eyes as they saw the friends’ cohesion and fellowship. Fearing their last moment had come the three friends stood back to back in a circle, keeping their word to be with and protect each other until the bitter end.

The impure fires and the noise had caught the mighty Striker’s attention, and moved by the selflessness and camaraderie of the three friends he gazed upon them with a mixture of admiration and sympathy. He resolved to intervene on their behalf. The Striker raised his mighty weapon, and brought it crashing down upon the earth. With a deafening bang his lightning had struck thrice, neutralizing the perpetrators who were now nowhere to be found. As the ground had stopped quaking beneath their feet, and their ears had stopped ringing the three friends realized not only that they’d been saved, but also that the lightning had struck three small acorns on the ground, and that with a burst of life they’d miraculously already sprouted, their roots already delving deep into the fertile soil below.

The oaks grew, and the open, windswept plain became adorned with a little grove of three magnificent oak trees, their branches entwined in a symbol of enduring friendship and shared resilience. Every day for the rest of their lives the three friends came to the oak grove, making offerings and singing hymns of gratefulness. And ever since, for thousands of years, on that very spot there has grown three magnificent oak trees.

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