But before I tell you all about how I got tangled up in love, it goes back to a time when humans began to inhabit this province. The rural province, over which I maintain guardianship, is one strip of green land surrounded by mountains on all sides, a barrier harshly insurmountable by human life, and most animal life.

At that age I learned to mimic sparrows and other birds. I learned how to sing their songs, able to achieve their melodic high-pitched chirping noises. Wings outspread, they would soar toward me until I could reach up and touch them with my hands, my body taking sparrow's form, white and wispy like clouds. In this ghost-like form, I would have these magnificent birds escort me up and around these mountains. I monitored blossoms puckering open for the first time in the spring, and I would look down approvingly at the mountains' vegetation, of which only I knew the taste. I saw how the rivers twisted in thin lines, as if drawn by colored pencil. One day, I looked down at the base of the mountains, and focused on where they touched a patch of green. Human beings had answered our call, the Harvest Sprites' and mine. Someone had finally made it through the mountains, and set up a tent in the first clearing they reached.

I discovered that keeping these virgin lands as beautiful as possible didn't work on its own. I put a little cave in the mountains, and soon after, the Harvest Sprites cleared out as much as possible to form mines that descended deeper than I knew about, myself. Then I made sure to bless as many different rocks as I could inside -- with color and shine. It turned out there was monetary value in these gems as well, but that wasn't my intention. I was going for intrigue.

I spent weeks in that cave, watching closely as a handful of humans moved in and out of the tent. I determined that they were middle-aged men: short, stocky, muscular, rough-looking. They were bearded and a little unkempt, so I made sure to push them toward the river to bathe. When they flexed their muscles, I touched my own arms. When sweat rolled down their faces from working in the mine, I pretended to wipe my face too. I had a body that closely matched theirs, but unlike them, I had never thought of putting it to any use. Of course, it didn't take me long to decide that I really, really liked humans. Their emotions were expressed on the surface, easy to read. Through their own physical exertion and hard work, they constructed things that would have been effortless for me. I rewarded them with all the gems, minerals, wood, and food that they could ever ask for. This was how towns eventually developed.

But the cute, rustic villages that you see here today wouldn't have begun, were it not for the brave soul that happened to come by every century or so. Always it was an older man, strong for his age, with a beard but no hair on his head. He would have a big heart full of dreams, and was one of the first to devoutly believe that this land was shaped by the divine. This man wanted to give back to the land in his own way -- by cultivating life, in the fields and with the animals. Day by day he worked until the very end of his life to perfect his farm, and brought in a wonderful harvest, dedicating it all to me.

Needless to say, I lingered around his farm. Wishing so badly for him to succeed on his own, I did not interfere, but as he carried on about his chores every day, I knew he sensed my presence. But he didn't want for very much in his life. He never asked to see me, to know who I am; instead he just knew, and was content with that. In return I made sure that he made the very best of his life, marrying the woman of his dreams, and having children to give the farm to. This man was just as much a savior as I was. We formed an unspoken partnership to help the land prosper.

It would carry on like this for several cycles, always a new farmer with the same dreams, always the same success. At each farmer's death, the village would commemorate him with the highest possible honors, never forgetting his value, or his dedication. But I got tired of seeing his family line fade away. I got tired of seeing him start over and over again as a man already past the age of fifty. Sometimes centuries would pass before another farmer came by again. I wanted something more steady and constant to rely on.

Nothing is greater than the miracle of birth, from the smallest hatchling to the most celebrated of human people. Who was I to interfere? I put my heart into it and would end up paying with my heart.

One of my greatest joys was watching the farmer's descendants as small children. When enough lifetimes passed and history started to repeat itself, it broke my heart watching these beautiful young children moving me to tears with their adorable playing, only to grow up and gravitate toward the allure of the city. So far, none of the descendants ever returned to restore their farmlands to their proper glory.

That was when I decided to give one special child the happiest time of his life, on his grandfather's farm. By that time, word had gotten around about me among the mortals. Prayers were formed, and I was thanked for not only every bountiful harvest, but every meal that I supposedly brought to every table. This child would grow up believing in my protection, respectful of the forces of Nature, inspired by me. His grandfather's death would sadden him, and when all rights to the farm were bestowed upon him, I made a daring gamble, almost sinful.

Nobody I grew up with had approved.

I gambled my life, the land's prosperity, and the youth's life, all on his success as a farmer.

I wanted him to rise over and over again, like a phoenix, teeming with the aura and energy of wonderful omens. And in exchange, I would grant him happiness for all of his lifetimes to come.

Waiting around for a new bloodline for decades was no longer working; in the long run, each grandfather's work was in vain. Every single time, the farm lands returned to weeds and brush. There had to be one hero to keep it going. Why didn't anyone see this but me?

"Quick," I asked one of my Harvest Sprites one day, "what is a common human name? Nobody must ever know that he has been Chosen."

I loved my loyal subjects deeply. Even though they were created that way, they all still held a special place in my heart. When the mountains, oceans, and clouds wanted me to keep out of the natural cycles of life and death, I insisted that this was what we needed to sustain our realm, and I could only rely on the strength in our numbers, even if they were all so small and had little say in anything, in the lowest ranks of our mystical realm's society. The Harvest Sprites stood by me, unquestioningly. That quirky little one I asked that day only pondered for a few seconds.

"Jack."