Fox's Glade hi welcome to dennys

The herbalist had arrived early, rather early, and rather eager to get a soothing harvest in for the coming weeks. Mud from the realm’s last thaw still smatters her ankles, her elbows, regardless of how high she stept. The further north one travels, the more spartan the green; but Rhaesuial had been an exception, and this ‘north’ was her south, and so Aure is practically warmed. It was a silvery, bleary morning — in a heady, unassuming manner that turned the fronds even fonder and refigured the harsh contrast of the cottonwoods to dribbling ink.

Fauna sussed through the growths of wild garlic she’d been looking for, and the morning stars yawned themselves to sleep for another daylight slumber. Aurëwen is here in the Below and Above therein; how long had it been since she’d felt that tug at her earthbound soul? She prays that Vercingetorix still looks into the same sky as she does, sees the same stars, sun, and moon. She hopes that, regardless of their wonts, their children could take an appreciation of the heavens as she does — well, once did.

Would that she weren’t so in love, so loving of mothering, so feeling of everything so thoroughly, she might like to drift and depart untethered; or, that may have been what she wanted, once upon a time. ... But she dotes on her little sun-and-stars and knows nothing but faith for her night-of-life; sees nothing but grace for those who’ve entered her life and remained, in one way or another.

Regardless of faults and flaws, these past few months have made her feel ever-changing — an endless metamorphosis, even though Bounkola lingers in the lull of this shadowy, soft morning. Eventually, she’ll set about on her harvest as planned.

Eventually.

@Dennan  l e g g o