Lore book: Difference between revisions

Lore books can be obtained by [[panning]], buying from [[trading|traders]] and looting [[ruin|ruins]] on the surface and underground.

Lore scrolls can only be bought from traders.

To use a lore book, put it in the hotbar, press the {{tnt|Using|right mouse button}} and it will be added to your Journal. You can open your Journal with the "J" key.

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Holy|"Holy"]]

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Schematic_C|Schematic C]]

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Salvation|"Salvation"]]

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Diet_of_Kings|"Diet of Kings"]]

''They don't know. They don't understand. I don't even understand it.

What have we created? What greater doom have we wrought upon ourselves?''

''I've begun to see things, even when I'm not gazing through the Lens. Walking down the halls, looking at the prints, suddenly my vision shifts and I'm in a world I cannot comprehend. I am in the other world, and it is leaking into this one.

I've begun to notice its effect. My creations: cherished by the people and without which this project could never succeed. They are strange to me now. There is something wrong with them. It is the otherworldliness I have given to them. An eidolon was found two shifts ago with blood and mutilation splattered across its plates. The workmen, they wrote it off as an accident, but I know better.''

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Resolve|"Resolve"]]

''One day she dreamt of great storms, trembling earth, turning wheels, and she woke to a new world. One of vibrance. Of light! Beautiful light! And beautiful green! Here now were the birds and beasts. The fruit and grains. The winding rivers and the great horn mountains. Where before there was nothing now there was wonder all around. She was the first to walk our world. Our home.

Thus she came to know joy. But when the sun left the sky and the night fell over the new land, she heard the whispers, the groans, the crunching footsteps of those abominable shades that haunt us still. She then came to know fear, and a dreadful fear it was! She fled into the dirt and the quiet places. Deeper down she went, hounded by the foul voices, until she came upon something hidden and strange. There in the dark she found herself in the presence of a god.''

''And so the First Trade was conducted. The god granted her a madness. The madness to keep struggling in the face of fear. In exchange, she swore fealty to it. She swore to never forget what the god taught her.  

Then she climbed. She returned to the surface, and in her madness she fought the monsters that harrowed her.  

For twelve years she fought! Every day she would rest and enjoy the bountiful wonders of this world, and every night she would rise and battle the creatures that came to hunt her.

She felled hundreds of them, yet they always returned. As time passed by, she grew wise.

Climbing to the high mountaintops, she called out- Called out! In a clear voice that rang through the dales, she called,  

''Now comes the Second Trade. She offered them wisdom in exchange for strength. The people, desperate for guidance, agreed to the deal.

Working together, Bearfirth and her companions built the first home. These walls were made from only mud and stone, but the ghosts had not the power to overcome them when the sun left the sky. The people rejoiced when they saw this, but Bearfirth, upon realizing she would not have to battle anything that night, felt the years and years of exhaustion, once held back through willpower, now fall upon her as a flood. Collapsing to the ground, she knew that her life was at its end.  

The people gathered around her, fearful and lost again at the thought of her leave-taking. They think they will have to return to the dirt and roots if she is gone. They think she pulls the morning into the sky.''

''Seeing this, she makes the Third Trade, the Final Trade!

She asks of them,  

'Survive this night. Stay watchful, do not give up yet. Do this for me and my strength will be yours.'

Her people are hesitant, but they bind themselves to the trade. They keep watch. The shades scream and roar at them -  Can you hear them? They're still out there, screaming at us now!

But her people do not run. They have an oath to fulfill. They build the walls stronger and trust that Bearfirth will hold up her end of the bargain. When the sun finally returns, it finds them proud and cheering. At last they know the madness that Bearfirth knew: They learned that by fighting in the face of hopelessness they could accomplish anything.

With their newfound strength, they worked together and made a grand village. They spread to distant lands, making villages and helping those in hiding there. And always, they remembered that long night and the sunrise that came afterwards.''

:See tapestry [[Tapestry#Schematic_B|Schematic B]]

''I made a purchase yesterday. A rather peculiar one. Having just returned from my cousin the King’s residence, and seeing one of these… Bells, as they are called, though I myself have no idea why, nothing bell-like about them at all. Akin to a snake, more like.

I am a God-fearing man and find this form unnerving. Curious that our Church, so eager to lambast every drunkard and enjoyer of the carnal pleasures, remains largely mum on these. Truly.''

''My cousin the King swears by this contraption, and it cost me a pretty penny, but soon, I hear it said, no noble house shall be without one. I wonder what other such inventive tools there are, and what their use might be.

On the way back to my estate, I heard word of a traveling alchemist from the Orient, and decided to invite him here with his cart of curiosities. Provided he shows, I might host him for a while, though frankly, he’d do well to entertain me. We shall see how he fares.''

My Honorable Lord.

Successfully recruited. Had to prove intentions, apologies to Baron Tassi for disturbing his sleep and the stolen chamberpot - crude sense of humour.

Group I joined is chapter of a bigger organization. Intentions unclear, but much talk of self-sufficiency.

Made up of both men and women. Peasantry foremost, some craftsmen: a cobbler, two carpenters, a servant. Just under two dozen souls. None can write or read I think, but I shall keep vigilant.

Will ingratiate myself with them and keep gathering observations.

Await further missives.

My Honorable Lord.

Confirmed suspicions. Heard boasts of loot from the raid on your lordship’s holdings and Viscount Cardoso’s ale stores.

Bandits work together with another group, spoken of as friends not competitors - likely another chapter.

Targets for attacks decided based on current needs - medicinal supplies right now, advise to send word to all at risk.

Recruitment seems to be regular but not codified, though generally proof of worth expected. Obtaining a noble’s belonging or acquiring a small amount of supplies through some swindle seems a common story.

No suspicion of ill intentions after a newcomer is welcomed, confirming your lordship’s assumptions - these are not sophisticated folk. Meeting places determined by a method I am not yet privy to, but aim to learn.

Await further missives.

Have drawn suspicion from Florin, Harrach subject, smithy.

Advise capture or slay when next seen. Balding, black beard sheared, stout of posture but walks hunched.

Next raid Lord Cardoso’s livestock. A rat supposed to open the way, but no violence planned.

My Honorable Lord.

I beg of you to accept my apologies for the tone of my previous missive.

Being under scrutiny, I had to be brief and omit the proper language expected by your lordship.

Allowed to write the current missive in comfort. Resting after thwarted raid.

Florin dead of putrefaction from arrow wound - my compliments to Lord Harrach’s archers.

Group is currently hiding within the Capillaries. Advise restraint in retaliation, reasoning as follows:

Helped escape wounded lad by name of Antek from under Lord Harrach’s outriders, impressing others.

I implore your lordship and allies to grant time until my next missive. Will attempt to garner authority before a larger meeting of the groups, supposed to take place within the month.

With luck, I may be able to deliver your lordships more than just foot soldiers.

My Honorable Lord.

My sincere thanks for your generous and wise decision to abstain from violence against the bandits.

I realize the recent attacks have been a nuisance, but my plan is bearing fruit.

My contribution to the raids was noted (my apologies to the guard at Viscount Cardoso’s estate, I pray his knee heals well), and my reputation among the group is now well established.

I have been informed that the chapter has been noted by a certain Sparrow.

Unsure as of yet if this is a nom-de-guerre or a title, but have heard it often lately.

Tomorrow we are to join a meeting which addresses the current make-up of the group and its priorities.

I will send another missive as soon as I am able to do so in less plentiful company.

My Lord.

Apologies for such a long pause in my missives, but I have hardly had the opportunity to write.

New additions to the group include a scribe and an escaped nun, I would rather not take unnecessary risks, as both are ardently devoted to the cause.

Meeting with Sparrow was akin to a rowdy commoner’s moot, with ale, food, and merriment aplenty - a treat for my chapter at least, as we were struggling with supplies in recent weeks.

Did not manage to get a closer look at Sparrow, but heard her speak - a woman of strong build, perhaps a mason or otherwise a physical worker, with a loud voice and much of a following within the ranks.

Many issues raised, among them supposed attention paid to the Flock - a moniker now also adopted by my compatriots - by the Blackguards, broad goals for the coming months, many harsh comments on life in the tunnels.

Heard many stories, most find many listeners nodding their heads in agreement.

Surprised by the group’s steadfastness, despite coming from many backgrounds and speaking different tongues. Their spirit will be hard to subdue anew.

Shall write again soon, details of new targets are expected to come down from Sparrow within the next few days.

My Lord.

I hope this message reaches you swiftly.

The next planned attack targets your Lordship’s estate with the goal of procuring valuables from their storage at the Stout Holds.

I have offered that due to some of the goods held there being connected to Falx’s project, there is a risk of Blackguard retribution, but to no avail - Sparrow seems to have reassured all involved that the raid will focus on precision so that doesn’t happen.

Myself and Antek have been chosen to spearpoint the raid. My Lordship, I once again humbly request your restraint - the raid needs to achieve at least partial success, as all involved are said to expect an audience with Sparrow.

This is my chance to speak to her alone, and relay all I learn to your Lordship and allies.

Myself and Antek will wear red scarves around our heads - I am fairly certain that no one else shall use such a distinctive piece of garb.

I entreat your Lordship to instruct the guards to let us two roam unchallenged, and I pledge to only take as much as is deemed necessary to impress the group and Sparrow.

I write to you distraught and disconcerted.

Antek is dead, the young lad stabbed through the throat, giving his last breath in the interest of the cause.

My cause.

Have I not made it clear we would be distinctly dressed? Have I not made clear my wish that the boy be unharmed?

The letter I passed has been read, I know this as one of the guards, seeing me approaching, laid down his arms and pointed me to the meager trove set aside for me to slip away with.

Why then, pray, has this same approach not been extended to Antek just moments before?

My Lord, I realize the tone of this letter may be inappropriate, you should however know my disappointment.

The lad had promise and was crucial for building my good standing among the Flock. I am now bereft of not just a compatriot, but a valuable asset.

I have been invited to meet Sparrow. Expect my next missive soon after.

Sparrow knows, has seen through my ploy, I am certain.

Writing in haste, being watched.

Next attack baron Tassi’s weekly convoy. Sparrow leads.

Plan to surrender to guards, red sash across tunic. Capture and deliver to your Lordships for details on Flock and Sparrow.

To whoever reads this.

Should’ve seen your guards’ stupid gobs when Emric or whatever his name really was fell over with a bolt through his head.

Bastard thought he was so smart, but not smart enough to cover his tracks. The one who forwarded his messages to you has been warned. For her sake, let this be the last one she delivers.

You must think of us as simpletons who can’t recognize a double-crossing rat when they see one. If there are more, I will know. And when I do, a quick execution will be the best they can count on.

We are not cruel, but can be if that is the only thing you lords understand.

How many of your people have we killed over the last months? A handful, perhaps, accidents happen.

More of your servants, subjects, even guards, have joined our ranks when they understood the truth.

We do not need you. There are no fields to till in this darkness, no castles to impress from a distance, no authority you hold that cannot be challenged.

Why would we serve those who have naught to offer but endless toil and the expectation to have their boots licked?

The Flock offers every man and woman a way to take their lives in their own hands. If they serve, then only because they wish to, not because they are forced to. In all of us, though we come from disparate places and are not all peasants nor burghers nor soldiers, this universal truth we understand well: our fate is our own to forge. And we do not need approval, from God Almighty perhaps, but not from the likes of you.

When we establish ourselves and make ourselves known to all, we shall perhaps approach you to deal as equals.

Until then, do not cross us, or it might be you lying on the ground with a bolt in your skull.

Stationary, long term recording.

State: background noise, technical issues.

“And this one is for you, my lovely niece!”

“What is it? It’s heavy! And clinking...”

“Well, why don’t you open it, hm?”

“Are they... stones?”

[boisterous laughter]  

“You sound so disappointed! What’s so bad about stones, little Emili?”

“But there’s stones everywhere!”

“Indeed there are. But these here are special.”

“Special stones?”

“Marbles! Worked on them myself, see? All round and smooth and easy in the hand.”

“So they’re round stones. But still stones!”

“Haish, aren’t you impatient today. Look here. Let me show you... You put one down like this, see? And then you take the others and try to... ah-ha! Almost hit it. Want to give it a try?”

“It looks easy.”

“Well, you’d think so, wouldn’t you? Want to make a bet with your uncle?”

“Mama said you shouldn’t gamble.”

“Right, your mother is absolutely right. Well then, I guess, then I’ll take these here back and search for a better gift for our little girl...”

“Give them here! You gifted them, so they’re mine now!”

“But you didn’t want them, did you?”

“No! I want them! You can’t catch me so you can’t take them back!”

“Hoi! No running! Wait- If your mother sees you-! And off she goes... little whirlwind.”

“Oi Bert! You’re finally out of the tunnels! Was that your niece?”

“Sure was. The girl grows like a water root, almost didn’t recognize her. How’s it been up here? Any news?”

“Merchant’s been scarce. Last shipment of oil and coal was late – but they still take the ore as if it is their bloody right.”

“Shush Hal, not so loud. You know damn well it is their right, and we should be proud to procure the ore they use in the main city. I tell you, our ore is what makes the crawlers and even your lanterns!”

“But it wouldn’t hurt them to show some more appreciation, now would it?”

“We’ve all got our packs to carry, down here. And it’s not like up top was any better, now was it?”

“Right, you’re right. Just being uneasy, is all. But as long as the tunnels don’t run out, they’ll have a need for us.”

“Right. Right, as long as there’s ore....”

“Bertram, you’re back. Emilia came running just a moment ago. Said you gifted her stones and wanted to bet on them? Of all things?”

“Miriam! Your little whirlwind is fast on her legs, isn’t she? And got a loose tongue, that girl.”

“Don’t you entice my kids to any shady deals, you hear me? It’s bad enough I have to tell her father off each time. You brothers - I should have never married a miner!”

“Ach, Miriam, don’t be like that. There’s nothing but miners in this town, anyways!”

“And you have the gall to sound proud about it. Tell me, how’s the tunnels these days? Your brother comes back every day with dust stuck everywhere. I’ll give up washing his clothes soon!”

“The tunnels, huh.”  

[low voices fading away]

“I won't lie to you, Miriam, …seen better days… but surely…”

[some entries are unreadable, the text covered with blotches and stains]

“The sixth right tunnel is barren.”

“What about the third?”

“Traces remaining. We sent Bert and his men a day ago, he should be back soon.”

“If there’s no ore to be found there either...”

“Nothing to do about it.”

“We can go deeper.”

“You think I haven’t thought of it? But the men are uneasy, and I get where they’re coming from. The air down there is stale. And thin.”

“But you tested the depths. The lamp kept burning even down there, didn’t it?”

“So far it kept burning. But if we can avoid it-”

“Hush. Someone’s coming.”

[Half a page seems to be ripped out, with uneven edges]

“Oh my god.”

“Are they... are they alright?”

“What happened?”

“Is that Bertram? Someone call the Greys!”

“....the tunnels. Down there, if the supports failed…”

“That’s why we needed that bell down there..!”

“Hey, man. Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

“What? I can’t.... Be quiet you lot! I can’t hear him!”

“Verdammt! Where? Are the rest of you still down there?!”

“We need to assemble a search party right away. They went down the third tunnel, if we hurry, we may still...”

“...two days ago...”

“But we can’t just-!”

“Someone get him some water and call...”

The rest of the conversation is lost. Despite repeated listening, the quality of the recording and overlapping voice lines made a complete transcription impossible.

“What do you mean, you have to raise the prices? Again? Didn’t you sell these to me for half the price just last time?!”

“Sure did. Can’t anymore.”

“That’s all you have to say?!”

“Look here, Halfred, I have to feed myself too. You know how hard it is to get fresh food these days. It’s not like it grows on stones.”

“But-”

“Take it or leave it, Hal.”

“...Fine!”

“Mama?”

“Yes, my darling? What is it?”

“Will uncle Bert be alright?”

“....of course, sweetheart. He’s big and strong, isn’t he? Just like your father. You know how the miners are.”

“Yes! All miners are strong like ox-hen!”

“Oxen, my dear. Did old Bergmann talk to you about the above again? That woman has too much time on her hands…”

“She told me that we’re special! ‘We’re strong and the dark won’t scare us none, no fear, because we miners were always down here!’”

“No fear… Well, I guess my little wildling isn’t scared of anything anymore, huh? You really do take after your father and uncle both.”

“Yes! I’ll be big and strong like uncle Bert one day, just you wait, Mama!”

“Sometimes I wish your father had a bit more fear in him. Or some thoughts left for his family waiting at home for him!”

“But Mama, you were the one who chased him out with your broom last time…”

“And he earned that scolding! Now come along, your uncle is waiting for that medicine you’re carrying.”

“That poor family.”

“It wasn’t enough for Bertram to come back in that state, now even his brother…”

“-heard Miriam cry all night.”

“What about the daughter?”

“They say he went too deep, …not enough air…”

“Hush, they’re carrying the body out.”

“From the stone we make our living, and to the stone will we return.”

Following is one of the only complete records of a tunnel burial, a local tradition observed in the rural mining settlements. Cross referencing with the documentation provided in “A Miner’s Guide to the Depths”.

“This is the last one. I won't be coming back Hal. You’re on your own from now on.”

“I see. I guess it’s goodbye, then.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no. You have to feed your own too, right?”

“It’s not profitable to come out here any more. They’re rationing even the mushrooms now, and there’s no more trade happening either.”

“Right. So no more haggling over your wares, eh? Haha. Yeah.. alright I guess.”

“....are you sure you want to stay? Why not pack up and come back with me?”

“No, no. I can’t. There’s still the mine, isn’t there? And the kids are still here, too. The Greys, and the Pebbles. Even old hag Bergman is still here, all the good it does us.”

“Hal, about that mine shaft... No, never mind. It’s too late now, isn’t it.”

“They haven’t told us to stop.”

“I see.”

“Right. I don’t want to keep you! Off you go, yes? Say hello and goodbye to your wife as well.”

“Goodbye, Hal.”

The Pond

What could have been if this chaos had not come between us? I can't stop thinking about him, it grieves me, drives me mad. All I can do now is to write down these memories and draw what I remember with charcoal from the dying fire.

I remember the first time I saw him vividly since it was such an unusually beautiful and peaceful day. The harvest of rye had begun but I snuck away early that day from the workers to enjoy the still summer evening out in the forest. Leaves rustled softly as I walked and small twigs crackled under my feet. Bushes and ferns brushed against my legs and arms.

I reached a glade with fallen trees and pools of water. I made myself comfortable, laying on top of a few moss covered rocks. The surface was dry and soft and the cranberries were blooming all over, buzzing with life. Looking up between the treetops I saw the partly cloudy sky. I would do anything to go back to that moment.

Feeling drowsy from the sweet, warm air I closed my eyes and just listened. I heard crows scrambling around in the trees and small bits of branches splashed down into the water beneath. Bees were humming to and fro close by my face. A fox barked in the distance.

Footsteps, branches snapping and brushing of vegetation. The sound stirred me from the haze. I thought it was a deer. It was very faint, but getting closer. I looked up and saw a tall man slowly walking towards the bigger pond in the glade. He sat himself down on an old log right by the water. He sat very still, as did I, and just looked at the water and the bugs that were dancing there.

He was fair and had light, long hair with wavy locks. His gaze was cold but at the same time gentle and at ease. By the look of his rugged hands, strong shoulders, and patched linen clothes he was a hardworking man.

He leaned forward and picked something from the ground. He looked at his find and pulled a string from his pocket. After a brief moment of tinkering he seemed to have made a necklace that he hung around his neck. A gentle smile spread across his face as he held up the adornment piece in his hand, admiring his simple creation.

I was careful to stay still, not making my presence known. I did not want to disrupt the stillness with my awkwardness. And at the same time I could not take my eyes off him.

He brought out a piece of folded, yellowed parchment out of his belt bag that he proceeded to scribble on, pausing every now and then looking up, his thoughts seemingly far away.

Carefully he put away the parchment and got down on his knees by the clear forest pool and cupped his hands. He took a sip and then splashed his face, making his short beard glitter with water drops.

He removed the necklace he had made and hung it on a thin, leafed branch, looked out over the pond one last time and then contentedly walked away through the brush.

Of course I was curious and walked over to the place he had been and inspected the necklace he had made. It was made out of a large acorn from one of the nearby oak trees. If I had only had the bravery to get up and greet him that first time I saw him. But who was I, a shy cow farmer's daughter to do that?

The Carriage

As the harvest season went by and autumn was reaching its end, I sometimes went back to the ponds in the forest where I had first seen that mysterious man. I had not seen him before in my village nor could I remember seeing him in the neighboring village either. It was like he had appeared out of nowhere and I couldn't stop thinking about him, to the point where it almost hurt.

The acorn necklace still hung there, untouched. The summergreen color of the seed was gone and it had turned into a shiny bronze. At some point I realized that he probably wouldn’t come back for it, so I took it and put it around my neck. I felt silly but it was pretty, in a childish and playful way.

My life on the farm got more busy and rough as winter approached. The cows needed to be fed several times a day as well as the morning and evening milking. The water in their troughs froze and firewood in our cottage was running low. When the winds were just about to turn freezing and snow was in the air I brought with me my little wooden cart, to the nearby spruce forest to gather some firewood logs to take home and cut.

As I was struggling with the frozen logs a small horse wagon, loaded with sacks and covered from the snow, came rolling on the muddy forest path. The driver had a thick cloak with a hood covering half his face. The gray, heavy mare was trotting energetically but slowed down to a walk at the light tug of the drivers hands on the reins. The snow was starting to come down heavy and my clothes were by now all covered in white.

The driver stepped off the wagon and put up a hand in the air as a greeting. I hesitantly waived back. He pulled out a thick blanket and threw it over his horse. He stroked the old, gray mare between the ears and she snorted content. The driver turned to me.

“Do you need cover from the storm, lass?” he said in a concerned manner.

“If you need help, that is.”

Since I was getting cold from the snow and wind I precariously walked over and stepped into the wagon. It was dark and not much space, but at least it was dry and sheltered from the wind.

Before the driver entered the wagon he loosened the horse from the harness and let her walk free. The wagon creaked as he got in beside me. He turned around behind him, lightly brushing against me, as he opened a bag of grain. He scoped out a fist of grain and called his horse, “Dapples, come here girl.”

The cart horse's head stuck into the wagon and she happily ate the grain from the driver's hand.

“I hope you don’t mind her joining us.” He said with a grin while rubbing the horse's muzzle.

The driver lowered his hood and I found myself staring as I recognized him. His hair was long, light and slightly tangled from being under the thick woolen hood and his eyes were dark green. My heart couldn't believe the luck that I had stumbled upon him again.

“We certainly weren’t expecting this weather today. Dapples and I were just picking up some grain to bring to the mill.”

“Are you... the miller?” I asked since I remember the miller in the neighboring village being much older.

“Not exactly. Or well. I work the mill now that my father passed. I am the miller's son.” He was quiet for a moment and fiddled with the reins. “I guess that makes me the miller now.” He looked at me with a sad smile.

“I’m so sorry about your father.” I mumbled, looking at my hands.

We sat in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, melting snow dripping from our cloaks and our breaths were smoking from the cold. I wanted to ask a thousand questions, but I couldn't bring myself to do it when I saw the hurt look in his eyes. But maybe that was exactly what I should have done.

“Your father must have meant alot.”

“He was a rough man as millers go, but he did have a good heart. I left my life as a brewer to come back to the mill when he got ill. The old man deserved no less.” The miller scoffed. “I do miss the brewing business though. It was a breath of new life from the slow, farming labors. But as long as I get to brew some of my special Miller’s Mead, all is well.”

He smiled slightly, then he caught sight of the acorn necklace hanging around my neck.

“That necklace...” He paused.

When I realized, my cheeks blushed and I cursed myself that I still had it, although now I am very glad I kept it. I stammered: “I...I found it by…”

“The ponds in the forest.” He said slowly and looked curiously at me.

“I actually saw you there.” I quickly confessed. “And I...” I started fiddling with the knot of the necklace.

He put up his hand in the air to stop me before I could take it off.

“Please, keep it.” He laughed heartily and gently pet Dapples, who was standing half asleep. “Now, where to? Let me drive you. The storm doesn’t seem to be letting up.” He backed up his horse and hopped out of the wagon.

“That’s very kind. But I need to bring the firewood home.” I excused myself.

“Dapples might be an old mare, but she doesn't mind a little bit of extra cargo.” The miller winked, and refastened Dapples to the wagon, and proceeded to load the firewood. I felt a bit overwhelmed by this kindness and quickly sprung to my feet to help him, saying thank you again and again.

We got into the carriage, our clothes completely covered in snow. The miller asked his horse to move forward in a slow trot. Despite the cold, I found the wintery landscape delightful. The snowflakes tickling the skin of my face and the fresh bite in the air. Come to think of it, it is probably winter on the surface now. If there only was a way to feel the snow again.

I had a piece of parchment in the pocket of my skirt which I used to make a sketch of Dapples trudging through the snow. The miller glanced at the paper and I shyly showed him the drawing. His eyes brightened.

“Beautiful. In a way it’s like... a poem without words, isn’t it? I… I used to write poems.”

He slowed down Dapples at a sharp turn in the road.

“I saw you writing something, when I saw you there, at the pond.” I remarked, folding the parchment again and then pulling the cloak tighter around me.

“That was the first time I wrote after many years of not writing at all.” He noticed the curious spark in my eyes.” I know what you are thinking. It has been a long time since I wrote something worth reading. I could not bore you with my nonsense.”

He seemed a bit embarrassed so I left it at that. Perhaps he had never shared these things with anyone before.

“If you say so. Another time then.” We briefly looked at each other, smiling shyly.

We rode off down the road as the snowstorm seemed to be waning.  My skin was cold, but  I felt warm on the inside all the way home. His presence made me feel so comfortable and safe in a way I had not felt before.

The Mill

In early spring when it was almost time to sow the rye I was herding my family's three cows through the woods of the neighboring town. I had my cowherd staff, guiding them through the trees, letting them eat off the sparse, sprouting grass that was growing there.

I stood leaning on my staff, looking out over the town below, seeing the townsfolk going about their business. Smoke was rising from the cottages, the sweet smell of fresh bread wafted trough the air, and the white sails of the mill were cheerfully spinning in the bright sky.

From a distance I saw the miller carrying sacks of grain from a wagon into the mill. He was moving vigorously, not stopping to take a break. He greeted some townsfolk on their way into town and then moved the horse and cart out of the way before he disappeared into the mill.

I was awoken from my daydream, hearing the cows from a distance. The three of them were heading out on the fields. With hurried steps I went out after them but alas they were full of spring energy and cheekiness and just kept running ahead of me. Remembering this now, as I sit here in the cold mountain, I realize how much I really loved those animals, even when they were that naughty.

They were stopped by a ditch between the mill and the field and I finally got to them. I got in between them and tried to turn them but ended up startling them. One by one they scrambled down and through the ditch to the other side, pushing me off balance and shoving me into the mud. I can still remember the taste and the awful feeling of my feet sinking.

I saw the cheeky heifers running, skipping, and leaping along, headed to the bright green, sunkissed grass on the hill by the mill. Desperately I tried to group them together but at this point they were all way too mischievous. They ended up scattering, one of them stomping in through the door of the mill. I was staring in disbelief. There was a commotion, the sound of crashing wood, and a cloud of flour flying out the door quickly followed by a ghostly looking cow covered in white flour, bellowing and coughing.

Out from the settling flour stumbled the miller with a wooden shovel in hand and dusty sleeves rolled up to the elbows, swearing, “Damned cow, where did you come from? Shoo!”

He hesitated when he noticed me and looked me up and down. “Please, herd your animals somewhere not near the mill.”

“They got away and...” I started, flustered.

He chuckled and raised an eyebrow when he recognized me. “So you are having a bad day as well aye... cowherdess?” He laughed and brushed the flour off his chest.  “Last time we met in a snowstorm, now you brought cow mayhem and took a mud bath.” He put the small, wooden shovel on his shoulder.

“Your four legged friend here knocked down two sacks of spelt flour and knocked the lever from the wooden axle. Jammed it completely...”

The sails of the mill made a pleasant low, muffled sound as we stood looking at each other. I need not to say that I was beyond embarrassed at that point, just hopelessly standing there, messy, cold, and without cows. But his smile comforted me and ensured that he wasn't too mad.

“The mill will be fine. The brakes are on. Let me help you gather your wild animals.” He looked slightly amused as he grabbed a rope from the wall in the mill.

We managed to gather the cows into the horse pasture nearby. He noticed I was shivering from the cold, wet clothes I was wearing so he brought me inside the sparsely lit mill. It was quite loud inside from the wooden machinery still spinning.

“We had dairy cows when I was little” He mentioned, looking at me, understanding. “They always got into trouble. Can't live with them and can't live without them” He put his thick woolen mantle around my shoulders when I sat down. It was still warm from his body. The hood was too big and messed up my hair. He lightly brushed a lock out of my eyes.

He grabbed a wooden hammer and started working on the dislocated machinery. I kept stealing glances at him as he worked. “You are staring.” He mumbled looking back at me. “Come and help me instead.”

We managed to get the mill's machinery in working order again and the Miller declared he needed a drink. He proudly brought out a jug of his home brewed Miller’s Mead that we shared. It was delicious, a rich taste of honey, hops, grain, and spices. Fit for a noble! Sadly, I doubt I will ever get to taste it again.

The alcohol soon turned our slightly awkward talk into soft hearted banter. I asked him about his poems that he had mentioned on our last encounter and after much persuasion he brought out a couple that he had written.

A slight bit of nervousness showed in his eyes when he told me that no one else had heard them before and he ran his hand through his hair several times as he started reading out loud.

“I like how they describe little details in life in such a simple but beautiful way.” I said as he took a brief pause. He seemed relieved to hear this and regained his courage to keep reciting.

“You might recognize this one.” He said softly, looking at me and shared his words as he had memorized.

Acorn on a string. Isn't it a delightful thing?

And thus it makes me stronger and bold.

I brought out the acorn that was still hanging around my neck. The miller nodded silently.

“I would like to see you again soon. There are so many odd rumors going on out in the villages.” He said and pulled me into a light, warm hug. “And I really don’t mind taking care of you, cowherdess.”

“I’m sure they are just rumors.” I said blushing. And oh, how wrong I was saying that.

That sunny spring day was the last time I ever saw the miller. Only a week after we had met in the mill, the gathering and evacuation of villagers and townsfolk started. I so dearly hope that the miller is safe in a shelter like I am, so that we might have a chance of finding each other again when all this is over. If ever. I still have that acorn, hanging close to my heart. It reminds me of what I have lost, but it also gives me hope. However slight it may be.