As the nights draw longer and the chill of November settles in, I find myself drawn to the comfort of the hearth — that soft flicker of light, the quiet crackle and the way familiar fragrances seem to wrap around you like a blanket.
It’s the season of slowing down, of gathering close, of letting the warmth of home soothe the edges of the day. And in that gentle glow, I always think of an old Wickwood tale — one whispered for generations whenever the first fires were lit.
So, settle in my friend. The story below is one to read by the light of a candle, or perhaps as your Fireside Dreams wax melt fills the air with its gentle echo of woodsmoke and comfort.
A Wickwood Fireside Story
When the chill of November begins to nibble at the windows of Wickwood Cottage, the folk of the garden know it’s time to gather close and light the first true fire of the season. For in that gentle crackle and glow lives an old friend — the Kelt Hog.
No one knows quite where he came from. Some say he was born from the first spark ever struck in this land, a spirit woven from smoke and warmth, protector of hearth and heart alike. Others whisper that he was once a humble woodland creature who fell asleep too close to a faery’s flame, waking to find his fur glowing like embers and his eyes reflecting the dance of firelight.
The Kelt Hog is a quiet soul. He stirs only when the logs catch and the air hums with that deep, familiar scent — the mingling of wood, heat, and the soft sigh of comfort. Those who listen closely might hear him humming low beneath the crackle, a tune older than time, meant to chase away loneliness and keep dreams bright through the long, dark nights.
They say if you sit very still before the hearth and close your eyes, you might glimpse him in your mind’s eye — small and round, with a back like glowing coals and tiny sparks that leap from his scales as he moves. He tends the fire with gentle care, making sure it burns not just for warmth, but for peace.
So, when the evenings draw long and you find yourself watching the flames dance, remember the Kelt Hog. Light your candle, your lantern, or your melt — let the air fill with that whisper of woodsmoke and memory. For in that glow, you invite him in. And with him comes the comfort of knowing that even in the coldest months, warmth will always find its way home.
Until next time…