Join us at the campfire for tales from around the world, told by storytellers of all backgrounds and creeds. From the heros and heroines of old, let us relearn and rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors. Shhh..the story begins..

Pwyll was a Prince of Dyfed, an area to be found in Southwest Wales. One cool, crisp Autumn day, Pwyll decided to go hunting. He gathered together his men and his hounds and made his way through the forested hills to a glen nestled on the River Cuch, where it was rumoured that fine stags were abundant. Pwyll and his band rode all day to reach the region and when night fell, they made camp.

Before the sun had crept into the sky the following morning, Pwyll roused his men and hounds and told them to make ready for the hunt. The horses were pawing the ground in anticipation and the dogs began to snuffle in the earth, anxious to pick up a scent. Just as day began to break, the party reached the depths of the forest and the hounds began to signal that they had ferreted out a trail. Leaping forward with great speed, the dogs yelped with excitement as they tore through the underbrush.

With a great shout, Pwyll spurred his mount forward and followed as closely as he could. He raced through the branches that whipped at his face, seemingly unaware of their roughness, and soon left his companions far behind. For a brief moment, he lost sight of the dogs, but pushing his horse even faster, he caught up with them again. They were clustered together at the brink of a small clearing and were growling at the scene before them.

Reining his lathered horse to a nearby, low-hanging bough, Pwyll leapt gracefully from the saddle and studied the sight which met his eyes. A snarling pack of unfamiliar hounds had piled themselves viciously upon the twitching body of a stag that they had just brought down. He had never seen these animals before...in fact, he had never even seen any creatures that so much as resembled them before. Their fur was of a glitterng white and their ears and eyes were red as rubies.

Pwyll waited, watched and listened for a short time, but his men did not appear behind him and he could not hear the pounding of their horses' hooves making their way in his direction. The forest was strangely silent and Prince Pwyll realized that he had no idea where he might be.

With a baffled shrug, Pwyll remounted his horse, urged it into the clearing, drove away the strange hounds and set his own dogs to begin feeding on the body of the stag. After a few moments had passed, Pwyll became aware that he was being watched. He looked around and met the contemptuous eyes of a tall man, in hunting garb, who was seated upon a magnificent dappled steed.

"I shall not greet you, stranger," declared the man. "It is only a lout who would be so discourteous as to take the prize of another man's kill."

Pwyll was much chagrined. "What country do you come from, stranger?" he asked.

"I come from Annwfn," replied the gray-clad hunter. Pwyll knew then that he had somehow crossed the border into the Faerie Kingdom. Perhaps when he had lost his way while chasing the stag, or maybe when he had entered the clearing. Pwyll was far from sure.

"I am Arawn," continued the huntsman. "The King of Annwfn."

"How may I clear my honour with you, Lord?" asked the Welsh Prince.

"Listen and I will tell you," King Arawn responded.

"Go, in my shape and form, to Annwfn and reign there in my stead for one year and one day. During that time, you shall be in possession of all my powers and shall have the sweetest and most beautiful woman in the world to keep your nights warm. Meanwhile, I will take on your shape and rule your lands. At the end of this time period, you will fight my loathsome enemy for me...his name is Havgan. His lands are parallel to mine and he fights me for them every year. If you are successful, then I will meet you here in this place once more."

Pwyll had no choice but to agree to Arawn's terms. Together, they rode to the far edge of the clearing and the Faerie King pointed to where a grand palace glimmered in the far distance. "That is my country," he told Pwyll. The Welsh Prince spurred his horse forward. "Wait!" called out the King. "If you would live, you must strike Havgan down with only one blow and be sure to strike to kill...a second blow will only serve to restore him!"

With that, Arawn rode briskly away but, just before he entered the shadows of the forest, he turned and raised his hand. Pwyll gave a start...for the man who waved at him was himself. He looked down at the hands holding the reins of his horse...and they were the slender and willowy hands of the Faerie King.

As he drank in the surrounding countryside with much curiousity, Pwyll rode on unto Annwfn. The path on either side of him was lush with green fields and shimmered with crystal streams. At the end of the trail stood a superb castle. It was adorned with tall turrets, each one topped by a roof of beaten gold and from which fluttered glorious pennants. The gates to the castle were open and Pwyll, somewhat nervously, rode through the portal.

Grooms came hurrying into the courtyard to take his horse and remove his boots. Young knights, in armour of heavy gold, clustered about him and chattered merrily about the hunt as they escorted him into the grand hallway...and Pwyll realized that the Faerie King, whose place he had taken, was indeed dearly loved by his people.

In the shaded interior of the grand hallway, the fireplace crackled comfortably and long tables were laid ready for feasting. There also, was Arawn's wife. The King had not lied when he had told Pwyll that she was beautiful, for she was by far the loveliest lady that the Welsh Prince had ever seen. Her hair had the bright radiance of pure gold in the glow of the firelight, and her skin was so translucent that when she drank the wine from his cup, Pwyll could have sworn that he saw the red liquid trickling down her throat. It was abundantly clear that this lovely Faerie Queen adored her husband. Throughout the evening, she never left Pwyll's side and spoke to him in intimate whispers with devoted smiles, regarding him with loving eyes. Pwyll could not help but return this affection; but when the last courtier finally withdrew from their presence and the couple went to their bedchamber, the Prince lay with his face to the wall and made neither sound nor movement, for he had vowed that he would put no hand on another man's wife.

So events continued until the end of the appointed year. Pwyll spent each day hunting and feasting and making merry with the Queen of Annwfn, but each night, as he lay abed, he turned his face to the wall and spoke not a word.

At the end of the year, Pwyll donned his armour, took up his weapons, and went to do battle with Havgan. The Knights of Annwfn rode with him and they eventually came to a ford that bridged a silver stream separating the two Faerie Kingdoms. Havgan was waiting on the far bank...a heavyset, pale-eyed man, surrounded by his followers.

When Havgan saw his adversary, he raised his halberd and cried, "I summon all to listen...this is a single combat between Kings to decide who rules these lands. None but we two shall engage in this battle."

The supporters of Havgan drew back, as did those of Pwyll, and the two enemies wheeled their chargers into position. They rode fiercely toward each other and met with a mighty crash at the center of the ford. Havgan let out a painful bellow and Pwyll saw that his lance had struck his opponent's shield, splitting it asunder and piercing the armour beneath.

Havgan slumped forward on his mount's neck, as his blood dripped steadily and turned the waters of the ford into ripples of red. The life drained from his eyes as he regarded the man who had dealt him the blow. It seemed as though he suddenly knew that the one before him was not Arawn, for he muttered, "I have no quarrel with you...however, since you have begun the kill, then finish my pain and grant me death."

But Pwyll recalled the Faerie King's words about striking a second time and he shouted, "Let him who so desires strike another blow, for I refuse to do it!"

Gripping tightly to his reins, with knuckles white, Havgan then turned to his men, gathered by the edge of the stream. "I can no longer maintain you," he cried as blood poured from his mouth and he slipped into the shallow waters of the ford. Pwyll looked across to the company of Havran's followers. "Your leader is dead," he told them. "Decide among yourselves now who will follow me now and end this struggle." One by one, each of Havran's warriors came forward and paid homage to Pwyll.

And so, the two Faerie domains became united under Arawn's rule, courtesy of Prince Pwyll. The next day, the Welshman left the palace, and the company of the beautiful Queen, and rode alone to the clearing where he and the Faerie King had agreed to meet the year before. Arawn was waiting for him. "I have ruled your lands in Dyfed justly and well," he told the Welsh Prince.

"And I, for my part, have cleansed the stain on my honour," replied Pwyll. The two men crossed the clearing and saluted one another before riding on toward their own countries. As they passed the verges of the clearing, each returned to his former shape and mould.

When Arawn reached his palace, his courtiers and knights greeted him as always...for, as far as they were concerned, he had never been absent. But his lady...although she was as merry and lively as she had always been...was withdrawn. After they had feasted well, Arawn took his Queen by the hand and led her to their bedchamber. He closed the door and reached to take her in his arms, but she stiffened and turned away.

Arawn was disconcerted. "What is this?" he asked. "Why do you reach for me now, when for a whole year you would not touch me?" asked his wife, with great sadness.

"Not touched you?" queried Arawn. "Of course I have touched you!"

The Faerie Queen merely shook her head and Arawn fell silent, reflecting on the integrity of the mortal man who had ruled in his place for a year. At last, he put his arm gently around his wife's waist and revealed to her all that had happened. When his story was done, his lady told him, "That was indeed an honourable man...and faithful comrade." Arawn readily agreed.

The next day, the Faerie King travelled to Pwyll's country and offered his hand in true friendship; they remained loyal to each other for the rest of their lives. They hunted together...in both Annwfn and Dyfed...and sent each other gifts of splendid hawks, dependable hounds, and swift horses. When the news of Pwyll's valor became common knowledge, he was just as often referred to as "Head of Annwfn" as he was "Prince of Dyfed" and, by and by, found a Faerie wife of his own, whose name was Rhiannon...Underworld Deity and original Mother Goddess of the Celtic people.

A section has been added to Penumbra entitled "Rainbow Bridge," dedicated to the memory of our beloved animal companions. It features various pieces of work, whose words, it is hoped, will bring solace and comfort to those who have lost a dear little furry (or feathered or scaled...etc.) one.

It contains an area known as "BlueBird Bower" where a memorial may be placed by anyone upon request in the name of their departed pet (no species refused).

Just click on "RainBow Bridge" on the home page to access the area described.