Long ago, on the shores of the ocean in the Realm of the Buffalo, there lived a great Samarian warrior called Gwynt Cryf. He possessed a magical power that allowed him to become invisible, enabling him to move freely through his enemies' camps and steal their secrets. His home was a tent that stood beside the ocean with a calm, calling breeze, and he lived there with his sister.
His skill as a fighter carried his reputation far, and many maidens wanted to marry him. But Gwynt Cryf would have none of their silly, simpering smiles, their false boasts of being the perfect match. He said that he would marry the first maiden who could see him coming home at night.
It was a test he’d conceived to reveal a maiden’s truthfulness. Many came to walk down the beach with his sister as the sun hissed into the sea, wishing to capture his heart. Gwynt Crfy’s sister could always see him, even when he was invisible to the rest of the world. So when her brother approached, she would turn to the girl who was currently gazing out over the horizon. “Do you see him?” And every waiting maiden would quickly lie: Yes, yes, there he was. Gwynt Crfy’s sister would ask, “With what does he draw his sled?” The answers were many: With the hide of a caribou, with a long, knotted stick, with a length of strong hemp. His sister would know the lies for what they were, simple guesses, and she knew that Gwynt Cryf would not choose this girl whose footsteps mirrored hers in the wet sand.
In the village lived a mighty chief, a widower with three daughters. One was years younger than the others. Her face was as lovely as the first rain of summer; her heart could hold gently the pain of the world. Her older sisters, consumed by their own jealousy, exploited her nature. They tried to detract from her beauty by leaving her clothes in rags, cutting off her shining black hair, and burning the smooth skin of her cheeks and throat with glowing coals. They told their father the girl had done these things to herself.
Like the other maidens in the village, the two older sisters tried to see Gwynt Cryf coming through the twilight. They stood on the beach with their sister, feeling the water run over their legs, and waited. As always, Gwynt Cryf’s sister asked if they saw him, and, lying, they said yes. She wondered how he drew his sled, and, lying, they guessed rawhide. When they entered his tent, the flaps shuddered in the wind. They hoped to see Gwynt Cryf bent over his dinner, but they saw nothing at all. Gwynt Cryf, knowing their deception, remained invisible.
The next day, the chief’s youngest daughter went to seek Gwynt Cryf; she rubbed her burned face with earth to cover her scars and patched her skirt with bark from the trees. She passed other maidens on the way to the beach, who laughed to see her go and labeled her a fool.
But Gwynt Cryf’s sister was waiting, and when the sun slipped heavy in the sky, she took the girl to the beach. As Gwynt Cryf drew his sled closer, his sister asked, “Do you see him?”
The girl replied, “No.”
And Gwynt Cryf’s sister shivered at the sound of the truth. “Do you see him now?” she asked again.
At first, the girl did not speak, but her face was turned to the sky and her eyes were as bright as fire. “Oh yes,” she finally breathed, “and he is wonderful. He dances on the clouds, and he walks with the moon on his shoulder.
Gwynt Cryf’s sister turned toward her. “What does he draw his sled?” she asked.
“He draws his sled with the rainbow.”
She too stared at the sky. “And what is his bowstring made of?”
The girl smiled, and the night washed over her face. “Of the stars,” she said. “And his arrows are tipped with the brightest of stars.”
Gwynt Cryf’s sister knew that because the girl had admitted she hadn’t seen him at first, her brother had shown himself to her. She took the girl home and bathed her, running her palms over the pitted skin until all the scars disappeared from her body. She sang while the girl’s hair grew thick and black down her back. She gave the girl her own rich clothes to wear and showed her into Gwynt Cryf’s tent.
The next day, Gwynt Cryf married her, and she walked with him across the sky and looked down on her People. The girl’s two sisters were livid and shook their fists at the spirits, demanding to know what had transpired. Gwynt Cryf resolved to punish them for the hurt they had caused his bride. He changed them into scrub oaks and dug their roots deep into the earth, since that day the leaves of the scrub oaks tremble in fear of the coming of Gwynt Cryf. No matter how quietly he approaches, they shiver because they cannot put out of their minds his great power and his rage.
-A Samarian Legend