The child was not wanted. It was an accident, something that should never have come to be. A desperate situation led to desperate measures. Since no one knew of the child’s existence, she took the little one to a grove, far from prying eyes, and left it there to rest. The earth swallowed the secret. Or so she hoped.
But the unblessed ground did not grant the child peace. The little one clawed its way back up, filled with cold and bitterness. Perhaps, at first, it had only yearned for an embrace, warmth, and solace. But now, its heart had hardened to stone, and it craved justice.
The ihtiriekko began to appear to passersby in the woods. It tormented them, mocked them, frightened them, but most of all, it wanted them to know it had not come into this world by its own will. And it would grant no one peace until all understood that it, too, had a mother—somewhere out there.
And as the truth emerged, the one who had abandoned the child felt the villagers’ unforgiving judgment. All knew the shame would remain, unyielding, and the bond between the mother and the ihtiriekko roaming the woods would persist forever.