by William J. Hartman, winner of the ADF 40th Anniversary Short Story Contest

In the Harz Mountains of Germany there lies a hidden dell, up in those mist-shrouded trees. A place that cannot be found by those who know it exists (Which no doubt annoys the reader as it did me when I first heard of it). It is a place made by the dwarves in that mountain vast, carved with tools of wind and rain within a grotto of artistry from deposits of the most beautiful stones and crystals in this world.

Graceful, singing swans of amber and nymphs of rose quartz perch over waterfalls of silver streaming into beds of amethyst and emerald, lit by the sun. These are among those wonders; with the area itself dappled in rainbows of dew within that sylvan paradise (the beauty of which I have barely touched upon here) The great jewel of that place is a dark thing polished by the weather and carved by time from the dark granite of the mountains
 
An immense harp strung in crystal and played by the few soft breezes of the place with a music to make the Gods weep. To be played by hands of flesh and bone, the person must be pure of body and soul or such a storm will come into the hearts of mankind that only the blood of the many will quench the vengeance of the so-tainted chords of the mountains.(some have said the great wars that have changed mankind for better or worse were caused by the indiscriminate strummings of unworthy travelers lost in these mountains, but none know their fates or if this is true).
  
The dell is within a maze of runes older than man, which leads to this grotto, some say it is Wuotan who favors this place when he needs time away from his many cares of kingship, and others that it is frequented by the goddesses when they need time away from their male counterparts. Only the gods themselves and the spirits of that place know the truth of it all…