Waldemar and the Bridge of Wind

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The forest behind the Apple Gate was unlike anything Waldemar had ever seen. The trees seemed taller, the air clearer, and every leaf seemed to have its own shimmer. Waldemar hiked across soft meadows that glittered in the morning light, his backpack clattering softly with every step. The sweet scent of apples still filled his nose, but now something new mingled with it: a freshness that smelled like the promise of a great expanse. Soon he reached the edge of a ravine. It stretched far and seemingly endless through the landscape, so deep that even the fog was swallowed up by it. Waldemar leaned forward a bit, saw only gray clouds and heard the wind singing in the depths. No path led across, no bridge made of wood or stone. "Well, it seems to be a dead end," he murmured. But his heart beat faster, for something inside him said: There is no end here. Here something begins. Then he noticed a shimmer, barely visible, as if the air itself were beginning to dance. A narrow bridge of invisible material formed before him—or rather, he heard it. The sound of the wind gathered into lines, like the hum of a string being taut. He carefully reached out his hand, and lo and behold—it struck something solid, though he saw nothing. "A bridge... made of wind?" Waldemar laughed softly and shook his head in disbelief. He tightened his hat. "Well, if you're going to show yourself like that, then I'll let you walk too." The first step was hesitant. He felt pressure beneath his boots, but the bridge swayed as if it were testing him. His heart pounded loudly in his ears. Every breath made the sound grow louder, as if the bridge were picking up his rhythm. After the first few steps, he felt more secure—until a sudden gust of wind hit. The invisible bridge shook, and Waldemar swayed. "Calm... calm..." he murmured, placing his hands on the straps of his backpack and concentrating. He remembered the warm glow in his chest that he had brought back from the Mirror Path and let that calm flow through him. Immediately, the bridge stabilized, as if it had understood his thought. "Aha," Waldemar said slowly. "So you're reacting to what I feel." A mischievous smile flitted across his face. He thought of fear—and the path swayed threateningly. He thought of confidence—and the bridge tightened. It was as if he were having a silent dialogue with the wind. Step by step, he moved forward, and the depths opened up beneath him. The wind sang louder now, almost like a melody carrying him. Waldemar began to whistle softly, and amazingly, this calmed the bridge even more. "You see," he said into the wind, "we can work together." The gorge seemed endless, and yet there was a point in the distance, a bright shimmer. Waldemar kept his eyes on it as he continued walking. Every step became easier, every breath more certain. Then, just before the other bank, something happened.