This is the story of Niese.

When the world was still young, before the dark things had been driven into the ocean, and mankind still hid itself away during night’s passage, all the animals of the Earth spoke one language. In those days the world was a small place, and the only animal with names was man. These were strange times, and a predator might sometimes negotiate with his prey.

Niese was a clever girl, but lions are more quick than clever, and thus one morning a lion caught her fair and square, as she was trying to pick some berries. Well, of course she begged the lion for her life, and the lion listened, because in those days this was often the only way to get anything at all.

Like many felines, the lion could smell the cleverness of his prey, and he gave her bargain no small consideration. “Very well, girlchild, if there is anything you would do for me, then I will set a task before you.” He allowed Niese to stand. “In the months before winter,” spoke the lion, “Fallen, the servant of Jack the Frost, comes to paint all the leaves with gold. Then comes the Frost’s handmaiden, Barren, to pluck each leaf and weave a cloak of gold which the Frost wears all winter long. I have long admired these leaves and would like a cloak of my own, but one of sturdy cotton, so that it will last me longer than a single season. Weave me a cloak of the Frost’s gold for your life.”

Niese bowed her head and agreed to the task. It was already late fall, and the leaves had begun to turn gold, thus she knew Fallen must be hard at work at his task. She searched until she found a tree whose leaves were red and only just flecked with gold, and she made a bed of pine needles beneath it.

She watched the sun go down, and wrapped her own cloak of blue wool tight around her body to ward off the cold (for Crow had yet to bring fire to the world). She listened to the sounds of the night, wondering if the dark things were nearby. The familiar noise of the daytime became strange at night. She could not tell if one sound there was a babbling brook, or the small lizards which lived in the grass. It could be the drawing of a breath, the wings of an owl, it could be the sound of wicked claws being dragged along the bark of a tree…

“Young lady, what are you doing out here on this night? You know the dark things roam freely when the sun has crossed the horizon, under Lady Night’s cloak, and have no good in mind for any mortals among them.” Niese looked up, and Fallen stood over her with his golden brush, painting the red leaves with delicate strokes.

“Oh,” she said, “I know of the danger, but I was told of your work, and I have admired it so long without knowing the author, I had to see!”

Fallen bowed to the compliment and continued painting the leaves, but Niese could tell he was pleased by her, and she stood up to watch him at work, making polite noises until the entire tree was decked in gold. “Well, I have many more trees to paint, but I would be no kind of gentleman to leave you here. Let me take you somewhere the dark creatures cannot find you, young lady, for it is the least I can do for such a brave admirer.”

Fallen carried Niese to one of the many caverns where men hid in the night, and as he left her off, she begged a favor, that he would paint her hair gold as the leaves. “Very well,” said Fallen. “Though my liege would not be pleased to hear of it, I believe I can spare a few strokes.” And quick as a wink he had painted her hair gold.

Niese fell into a deep slumber then and, when she woke, she set immediately to work, carefully cutting away each strand of her hair and weaving them all into a cloak. But although her hair was very long, in the end she had only enough for a hood. She hoped this would please the lion, and she took it too him.

“I see you have met Fallen, clever girl,” the lion said, when she came to him again, “and in some way divested him of his precious golden paint. Let us see how the cloak fits.” Thus she placed it about his neck, and the lion’s head was wreathed in gold, though little else was covered. “Ahh,” said the lion, “well, this is not a whole cloak, and yet I can see how you have done more than perhaps any other could have. For while Jack the Frost’s cloak lasts only a season, mine, though smaller, will last a lifetime.”

That is how the lion got his mane, and when Niese’s hair grew back, it was still made of gold.