In the opening segment of Der Waldgänger (The Forest-Goer, 1846), one of his few stories that Stifter did not revise and reissue in book format, the autofictional narrator reminisces on his definitive departure from his Bohemian homeland. Somewhere near Kirchschlag in the foothills above Linz, “der Verfasser” or “der Wanderer” (the author/the wanderer), as Stifter alternately refers to himself in the third person, crosses a divide separating the Mühlkreis region from the Danube basin of Upper Austria. In the process, he surveys numerous natural features on either side of the ridgeline, including those pertaining to the geosphere (mountains, rolling hills, vales), the hydrosphere (rivers, streams, rivulets), the biosphere (forests, bushes, orchards), and the atmosphere (the meteorological differences between the overcast skies to the north and the sunny climes to the south). Whereas the distant dark-blue strip of the Bohemian Forest blends with the gray ceiling of clouds behind him, the sunlit river basin below seems to beckon toward a new and figuratively bright future. This pivotal point of his journey from Bohemia to Vienna, where he will spend the next twenty-two years of his life, significantly occurs upon a point of partition or Scheidepunkt in the physical landscape. Indeed, this eight-page section of the text (see HKG 3,1:95–102) is punctuated by a leitmotif-like complex of scheiden (to divide/separate) and its linguistic variants, all of which serve to underscore a variety of interconnections between Upper Austrian geography and Stifter's early autobiography. Thus, the wandering-narrating analogue of Stifter crosses a Scheidelinie (dividing line) but tarries at the abovementioned Scheidepunkt, reflecting on his recent separation or Scheiden from both his hometown of Oberplan and love interest Fanny Greipl, who resided in the nearby town of Friedberg and whose parents saw little if any professional promise in the likes of the young and dreamy “Bertl” Stifter.

Guy Gavriel Kay, a well-established Canadian fantasy writer, has accustomed his readers to a specific form of historical fantasy, which is grounded in history but uses the elements of the fantastic in order to detach the past from its particular settings and give it a more universal feel. The Fionavar Tapestry – his debut trilogy, which consists of The Summer Tree (1984), The Wandering Fire (1986), and The Darkest Road (1986) – is completely different, though. Epic in scale, the narrative relies on an extensive network of inspirations in its worldbuilding. Many of the elements are derived from medieval culture of both the early and high Middle Ages, most prominently the Arthurian legend. The novelist also borrows certain concepts from Eastern spirituality, and the trilogy encompasses the dualism of yin and yang, the necessity of harmony and balance, and the notion of reincarnation. Some aspects of Fionavar worldbuilding are also inspired by various world mythologies, including Norse, Celtic, and Greco-Roman myths. Taking into account Kay's engagement in editing J. R. R. Tolkien's The Silmarillion in the late 1970s, it is impossible not to notice Tolkienian inspirations either.