I stand with two other birch trees at the crossing of three roads.

One day three princes came along with their bows and arrows. The eldest took an arrow and shot it into my trunk. Turning to his brothers he said, “Let’s each mark one of these trees before we go our different ways.”

Having been shot, I knew what would happen. If the prince who shot me died, blood would flow from my wound. If he lived, then milk would flow from that place.

It would be the same for the other two birches. The brothers had left their mark on us, and we were bound to them.

Birch Tree at the Crossroads in The Three Princes and Their Beasts, Violet Fairy Book. Picture by Carl Larsson.