He built his new home on a meadow covered with small white flowers. It was a respectable distance from the forest (there might be wild beasts in there) and far enough from the river to avoid the mud. He congratulated himself at having found a place where there was no people for miles around, but he still only had to clear a few flowers before building. He set his horses free. Maybe they would find their way back or maybe they would just run free, he did not care. He did not need them anymore. He was never going back to the so-called civilisation.
Taking the tools he needed from his wagon, he began his work, whistling a melody his parents might have taught him long ago. The sun was warm and in the heat the sweet smell of the flowers made the air and his head heavy, but he refused to stop his work before sundown. The flowers stirred in the wind.
He slept in the wagon that night and the next morning some of the flowers had grown up around the wheels of his wagon. He found it passing strange that they had grown that quickly, but he cleared them away and continued his work in the warm sweet heavy air with the flowers swaying in the breeze.
When the wooden hut was finished, he stepped back hot and sweaty and laughed. Since there was no reason to be ashamed of his laugh (after all there were only the flowers to hear) he laughed very long and very loud. He could almost imagine the flowers stirring at the noise.
He noticed then, that while he had been finishing the roof, the flowers had crept up the walls of his house. He considered removing them, but they did give a rather idyllic touch to the place. So he let them be. That night he brought his pillow and blankets into the house, closed the shutters of the glassless windows and settled down for a good night’s rest after a job well done.
The flowers were silent as they crept through the cracks, slid across the floor, under his blanket. He did not wake even when they curled around his torso and neck and gently squeezed the life out of him. When morning came the hut and the wagon were already disassembled and the meadow was smooth again except for one lumpy tussock covered with small white flowers.
A Bolg? 