Alone now, the old woman took a deep breath, gathering her resolve. She knew that turning back was not an option. She had come too far, and the village was counting on her. Adjusting the shawl around her shoulders, she continued to climb, the snow crunching beneath her feet.
As she made her way up the mountain, she recalled stories of Yamanba—the fearsome mountain witch said to guard a treasure of rice cakes that could save her village from famine. Many had tried to approach her, but none had returned. Yet the old woman was determined; the hunger of her people drove her onward.
After a while, she reached a clearing where the sun broke through the swirling clouds. Before her stood a small, weathered hut, encased in a thick layer of ice and snow. The air buzzed with a strange energy, and she felt a mix of fear and curiosity. Summoning her courage, she approached the door and knocked.
The door creaked open, revealing a figure wrapped in layers of furs, with long, unkempt hair hanging down her shoulders. It was Yamanba, her eyes fierce but not unkind. "What brings you to my mountain, old woman?" she croaked.
With a steady voice, the old woman replied, "I have come to ask for your help. My village is starving, and we need the rice cakes you guard. I am willing to face whatever challenge you set before me."
Yamanba studied her for a long moment, then began to laugh—a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the trees. "You are bold, I will give you that. But many have tried to outsmart me, and they have all failed."
"I do not seek to outsmart you, but to learn from you," the old woman said, her heart steady. "I am ready to prove my worth."
"Very well," Yamanba replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "If you can complete three tasks, I will grant you what you seek."
The old woman nodded, determined to show her strength and resilience.
Yamanba's first task was to find a flower blooming in the depths of winter, one that bloomed only under the light of the full moon. Without hesitation, the old woman set out into the forest, searching through the drifts of snow, guided by the silvery beams of moonlight. After hours of searching, she finally found the flower, its petals vibrant against the white blanket around it. She carefully plucked it and returned to Yamanba.
For the second task, Yamanba asked the old woman to gather firewood from the deepest part of the forest, a place filled with treacherous thorns and brambles. Many would have faltered, but the old woman persevered, weaving skillfully through the underbrush, her determination unyielding.
The final task was the most daunting. Yamanba instructed her to cook a feast fit for a queen using only what she could find in the forest. The old woman paused, her heart racing—this was no simple meal. But with her knowledge of herbs, roots, and wild game, she set to work. Hours passed, and when she finished, the aroma wafted through the mountain air.
Yamanba tasted the feast, her eyes widening in surprise. "You have done well, old woman. Your heart and spirit are strong, and you have proven your worth."
With a wave of her hand, the mountain witch produced a basket filled with shimmering rice cakes. "Take these back to your village, and may they bring you strength in your time of need."
Gratefully, the old woman accepted the basket, bowing respectfully to Yamanba. As she descended the mountain, she felt a sense of triumph. Not only had she faced her fears, but she had also secured the future of her people. The chill of the wind no longer felt threatening; instead, it seemed to sing her praises as she made her way home.