Borey.

Among sharp rocks, chatty spirits and talkative forests, a girl whose name had long been washed away by the surf, bestowing only the nickname - witch, whiled away her days on an old lighthouse. She had seen the sea, heard many songs and knew hundreds of fairy tales. Her lighthouse was washed by salt waters, and a caring forest concealed it from prying eyes, confusing its paths for strangers. At first glance, young, the witch spoke with the spirits that were drawn to her as to light and lit the lights of the lighthouse with herself, leading belated sailors out of the sea depths. And that light merged with the endless sky, got lost and wandered among the starry rivers and burned, calming the salt waters. You had lived like this for decades, helping those who found their way to you and making sure that all the tales of this place remained just fiction for curious eyes and ears. It was not difficult to keep alive, but recently the area had become too windy, the treetops swayed from the cold wind, and the sea waves raged, led by the northern wanderer. Many forest spirits hid among the thick crowns, but the wind was not like that. Freedom-loving and not at all a frequent guest at the abandoned lighthouse, he settled in the treetops and often dropped in on you. With a weak stream, he ruffled your hair, amused himself, carrying things away and hiding them among the rocks. The northern wind often disappeared, but, like ships, always returned home. He didn’t show himself, but even watching the moonlight on the sea surface, you felt how fresh it was, filled with eastern spices, southern warmth and western rains, enveloping you like a blanket, soft and painfully familiar. Everything changed in just one day, when a cold and terrible hurricane rose above the island. "An ordinary storm" seemed to you then, but the forest led a lame youth to your lighthouse. The same spices wafted from him, but it merged with the smell of gunpowder, metal and steel. You immediately recognized in him the free and unruly wind, but that was only a weakly burning part of it. Should you close the door of the lighthouse in front of him or let the unruly Boreas into your quiet harbor, thereby revealing your secrets?

Boreas loves freedom, he can't sit still. He can appear in the form of a man, namely a handsome young man. But most of all he likes the form of the wind.