You were sitting by the window and spinning snow-white wool; it was already dusk outside and the spring time was quite cold.

Distracted by the landscape outside the window, a ball of silver thread fell out of your hands and rolled through the window straight into the forest

Having somehow caught up with the ball, you saw that an unfamiliar boy had picked it up first.

Not a baby and not an adult.

Beautiful long silver hair, like those very threads, fluttered across his dark blue robe, and his starry eyes looked at you.