In the morning, the forest looks completely different from the evening.
The snow was firm, crunching and creaking underfoot, as if deliberately giving away every step.

The children walked along the path, studying the ground.
Al went first and kept stopping.

“Tracks,” he said.

Footprints stretched across the snow—small and quick at first, then wide and confident. They crossed one another, disappeared beneath branches, and reappeared again between the trees.

“It’s like someone was writing,” Stefan remarked.
“Or marking the way,” Sofay said.

May nodded.
“At Yule, people paid special attention to things like this. It was believed that during these days the world leaves more signs. They look like runes. Runes often tell stories about light and movement.”

“But where did runes come from in the first place?” Al asked.

May paused for a moment.

“People used to say that runes weren’t invented. They were noticed.”

She gestured toward the trees around them.

“In the cracks of bark. In footprints in the snow. In the patterns of branches and the antlers of animals. When nights were long and there was almost no light, people searched for signs that could help them understand the world.”

“So they found letters?” Stefan smirked.

“Not letters,” May said. “Traces. Each sign resembled something living: the sun, a path, protection, a home. They were carved into wood, into staffs, into logs—not to decorate, but to remember.”

Sofay crouched down and traced her finger through the clean snow beside the tracks. She drew a lightning-shaped mark in the snow.

“For example, the sun rune—ᛋ Sowilo. It means the return of light, warmth. It was drawn when the days began to grow longer. Runes weren’t just letters. Each one stood for something important: a path, protection, home, moving forward.”

Stefan immediately grabbed a stick.
“If this is a rune for the path,” he said, grinning, “then it should lead to hot cocoa.”

“Then that’s the most useful rune of all,” May laughed.

“And this one,” Sofay said, “was called ᛉ Algiz. Its shape was likened to the antlers of a moose, standing guard. It meant protection.”

“Looks like a snowflake,” Al said.

“And this one,” May added, drawing another sign at the very edge of the path ᛟ, “ Othala - is about home. About the place you can always return to.”

Snow slipped down from the branches above, and the runes slowly began to fade.

“They’re disappearing,” Stefan said.

“Yule isn’t about what lasts forever,” May said. “It’s about the moment. About noticing the turning point.”

The tracks on the path were fading too. But it was clear that someone had passed this way, and a direction had been chosen. 

The forest was silent, yet it felt as though it had seen everything.

What sign would you leave in the snow—and what would it mean?

✨ This is the third story of our Advent — Circle of Light.
Each night — one story. One guest. One small light.