Forest is close, trees are far

iv. Bjerne

Dearest,
Our friend Horksel told me one morning, you were not there yet, we came a little earlier before the lecture, his theory which he came to, as he said, observing my resentment which I quote: 'is impossible not to notice.'
"There's nothing, out there somewhere. We just die and that's it."
When I asked him what the point was, he had the answer. Among the few who really have them today.
"From dim light to complete darkness?" I wrapped the net around him sharply, but he didn't get distracted, and I can't knit.
"The point is now. This now. Do as much as you can, use as much as you can from now so when the new now comes, you are better than you were before. "
He added as he held me by the shoulders, lightly, I remember, as if afraid of breaking me. I was grateful to him for that unobtrusive care. "They can't hurt you if you're one step ahead, right?"
Our friend, to whom dragons live in a notebook along with drawn knights rescuing princes because it is easier to draw them than to summon them into reality. It is easier to dream than to create. It's easier to breathe without thinking about what each breath brings us closer to. It's easier, but not possible.
Maybe there's nothing. Let it be so. This world here seems dark enough without you anyway. There is no darker darkness than the one in which love is not recognized. If only it were enough to love. Darkness would be pushed into a corner and the world would be ours.
The loneliness in this chaos is disturbed by something sliping from under the table. When he notices me he seems to recognize me. I recognize him too. Pankon, the dwarf being of the forest."How many coins!" He held out his hand, showing me how many he had collected, and patted the other's pocket. "They won't even remember how much they lost by morning!" I laughed. The forest did not leave me alone.
"Are you stealing from their pockets?"
"Intoxication steals them. The ground is full of them. They don't even notice that they fall out of their pockets."
Pancons are small forest thieves, who collect lost coins and take them to the forest where they bury the gold coins in the ground, so that the roots can reach the gold they need to restore the splendor of the trees. People don't like anything that's beautiful that isn't theirs, so pancons have lot to do. Luckily, people are careless in their wickedness, so forest workers can easily get the elixir for their home.
"I don't think they'll care." I say. When he shrugs, his head is lost in his shoulders. "It's not our problem."
Other coins, those that are not made of gold, are not collected for trees, but for us. Imagine! They sneak in at night in the house of the poor and put them in flower beds or under pet food bowls. Conscience occurs in the wrong creatures.
If there were beings who bring happiness and ever find me, I would send them away to your door. I would tell them to take my package to you because my hapiness is seeing you happy.