Long ago, in a village perched on the edge of the sky, there lived a girl who refused to wear wool or fur in the winter. She said the earth’s fabrics were too heavy, too bound to the soil. Instead, she climbed the tallest hill at dawn and whispered to the heavens. The clouds, curious and playful, drifted down to her shoulders. They wrapped around her like a coat, soft and luminous, stitched together by sunlight and wind.

The villagers called her Cloudkeeper. Wherever she walked, mist followed, cooling the fields in summer and blanketing the rooftops in winter. Children laughed as she passed, chasing the little tufts that trailed behind her. But the elders whispered that she was chosen—an emissary between sky and earth.

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One day, a drought struck. Rivers shrank, crops withered, and the people grew desperate. The girl climbed again to the hilltop, her cloud-coat billowing. She asked the sky for rain, but the clouds were stubborn, clinging to her instead of the fields. So she unwrapped her coat and cast it wide. The cloud dissolved into a thousand droplets, falling as rain across the land. The people rejoiced, but when they turned back, the girl was gone—vanished into the mist she had given away.

Some say she still wanders, wearing a new cloud each dawn. Others believe she became the sky itself, her laughter echoing in thunder, her footsteps hidden in fog. And when you see a lone figure walking through mist, you might wonder if it’s her—still keeping the balance between earth and heaven.