Sunset and the Ice Palace

Hey, little wind—why are you fussing and fluttering among leaves? Quiet down, you mischievous, playful, and prankish breeze—and listen to Mother Blizzard, the storyteller and matchmaker of frosts. I’ll write everything with hoarfrost and tell you no good. There, beyond the hill and the sunset, stands a magical cursed palace. Built by human power. An immortal king lives in the palace. Every year he takes from the unclean. He destroys the forest folk and extends his rule. I’ll teach you a lesson—you won’t run to him, little wind!