The path through the mountain was only passable in the summer months. In the winter it was covered in snow, in the spring it was nothing but mud, and in the autumn there was too much foliage. As a result, the town was almost cut off from the rest of the world, and we were happy to be so.
It isn’t that we don’t like the rest of the world, consider ourselves better or anything of the source. Instead, it’s simply that we like to keep to ourselves, and it’s easier to do so if the rest of the world can’t get to us in the first place.
I will admit, there is something about the village. There are old stories of being led here by will’o’wisps, and that the place where the town sits is on the border between our world and that of the fae, but it isn’t something any of us can claim to have proof for. We feel it, more than anything, and we’re fine not having to defend that story to anyone from outside the town. All the same, I think they might believe it, simply by following the path.
There are bends and twists in the mountain path, ones that make it appear it has come to a dead end, and which you can only see the way through when you walk right to the border. I would think people might believe the story of our village sitting on the edge when they’ve had to walk through so many illusions to reach us. Not that I think anyone has shared the story.
You see, the only people who travel to our village are the few merchants who go out of their way to tap the goods and coin that no one else would bother with. We have textiles we trade that apparently sell well in the world outside, but no one here could be bothered to make their way to do so themselves, especially not with the chance of being trapped outside the village when the seasons change. So we trade them to the merchants who take the risk of being trapped here instead.
No one ever was, until Mister Finter came later in the year than usual and there was an early snow. By the time he tried to leave, there was no path through the mountain for him to follow. Instead, he was put up here and worked for families in exchange for his room and board. We found him helpful and eager to make his way, and were actually sad to see him go in the summer, though we had all known he would. Which is why it was not a surprise when, a few summers later, he returned with a wagon of belongings and asked to join the village.