Spring, Week 10 - The Traveling Troubadour

To hear the narration and to learn how I put this episode together, check out this video:

*****

 It's been a tough few weeks. The whole mess with the mayor... it's been stressful. And I've been avoiding people, companionship, even friendships. I know there are people in High Rannoc who support me. I'm feeling lonely, despite having penpals in the Here Yet Not Here and the friendly faces of everyone and everything living on the grounds. I think I'm ready to face down the rumour mongers and spend a bit of time amongst friends. Or, at the very least, be in town and show everyone that I'm not ashamed to show my face. I'll ride into town on Vapour Trail, all lit up and beautiful, and... and there is no 'and'. I'll just go and be brave and face whatever needs facing.

Despite coming to a decision about what I'm going to do, I've found myself doing little things here and there which, were anyone to judge my actions, could view them as avoidance. Not that I'd agree with that conclusion! It's just that, when faced with something that could go badly, and quickly, socially, I find that there are things that I see that need doing before taking on anything new. Like the cauldron needing a good scrubbing. The hearth needs a good sweep. The chimney should get a good scrubbing to keep the creosote under control. The...

"Hello, hello! To the faire I go!

I know the way, just steps away

and maybe it won't start today

but I'll keep singing anyway!"

So... I'm covered, head to toe, in black ash and grime and there's someone approaching the cottage singing exuberantly. I hope it's not someone suffering from a singing sickness needing immediate treatment! It'll take days just to get to a semblance of clean! And still the singing got closer.

"Hello, hello! Is anybody home?

I'm free to roam, with no fixed home

Is anybody home?"

And then a knock.

Now, as to how this bard didn't see me on the roof as I finished up the chimney... I was hiding. Yes - I, Mistress Sweetwater, witch of High Rannoc and environs, was lying down on the roof trying hard to not be noticed. The lonely witch, absolutely covered in soot, avoiding a knock at the door, and I...

"There's a bard knocking at the door." I realized, with MouseEye's voice coming from in front of me, that I'd closed my eyes. Because apparently that helped me hide better! So I opened them and, sure enough, MouseEye was up on the roof with me, crouching down, hiding, too.

"I know!", I hissed.

"Are you going to answer it?" MouseEye's eyes glittered with mischief. 

"No!"

"Ok. I will." And before I could stop him, he ran, sprang, and disappeared. I groaned inwardly. And then I heard, "Just one moment please! Mistress Sweetwater is indisposed. Please come in and make yourself comfortable."

There was no helping it. Now I had to come down and deal with... someone. Great.

"She's making herself at home. You're welcome." MouseEye was lying down next to me again, grinning. I swear, MouseEye should be happy I can't literally shoot daggers out of my eyes because at this moment I was trying really hard to make them shoot something. Given his impudent grin, I was indeed shooting something, but something less deadly and more ticklish. 

Fine. Fine! I'm going to handle this the best way I can. I stood up, called for Vapour Trail, and waited for a second.

Ok - it was a little longer than a second. It was exactly long enough for the visitor to stride out from the cottage and watch as I caught my broom, jump off the roof, and settle onto the ground. I think I felt a small cloud of ash rise up with my landing.

We both started talking at the same time, then quickly stopped. Then the bard made a grand gesture and said, "Pleased to meet you, Mistress Sweetwater. I'm the Traveling Troubadour, Bess by name, bard by trade, minstrel to all far and wide."

I smiled. I couldn't help myself. There was something just so... familiar. Easy. Fun. And it was infectious. I'd certainly caught something that turned my mood 180 degrees. "I'm afraid Mistress Sweetwater isn't here just yet. But I dare say that in an hour, and after a really good wash, she'll be here. For right now, just call me Ash. Ly. Ashly. 

Her eyes glittered back. "Ashly, can I get your Mistress' fire going while you wash up?"

"That would be delightful. Thank you."

And that was that. I took a towel and a lot of soap with me to the stream and Bess got the fire going.

It felt like forever to get all the grime off and feel clean. By which I mean almost all the grime because it just wouldn't all wash off!

Note to self - self-sufficiency is nice, but I bet I could hire help and not feel like I'm a walking ash pit. Even the few coughs I've had are a smokey grey! But I finally got to where I didn't feel filthy anymore, then headed back to the cottage. 

I hadn't forgotten that I had a visitor but I did sort of lose track of it because I couldn't help but be a little surprised when I walked into the cottage and Bess was there in front of the fire, looking at the spirit house. 

"You look cleaner. And a lot happier for it."

"Would you mind if...?" and I gestured to the door. 

She nodded in acknowledgement, then closed the door behind her. I took a minute to get dried off and dressed, and then opened the door. I didn't see her right away, but coming from a short way off was quiet singing. I followed the sound and found Bess sitting under a tree.

 "Either that was a very quick hour that passed or you are a much cleaner Ashly."

"No. It's Mistress Sweetwater now. Or just Sweet. It felt like it'd take an hour just to start to feel clean! Would you like some tea?"

"I'd love some!"

We chatted all the way back to the cottage. Which, to be honest, was very unusual for me. When people come to the cottage, they come with a purpose, i.e. to be cured of some affliction. And then they leave. And I like it like that. And so, to be happy and chatty with anyone is really unusual. 

"It's a hazard of the profession", she said when I mentioned it to her. "When you travel around, meeting people, hearing news, learning stories, you have to be approachable, charismatic even. So don't worry - you aren't the first person to feel like you're in danger of talking my ear off!" She laughed as she told me.

We'd settled into the cottage, drinking tea, trading stories. She told me about some places she'd visited, "... but I haven't been to the Imperial City. Yet. One day." And some of her adventures. "But enough about me! How'd you get me talking so much?"

I told her about being a witch, of some of my cures, places I'd been, and some of my adventures. By the time we'd traded stories, the day was well along. I'd been talking so much I didn't notice until the slanting sun shone through a window. "Oh my goodness! I just realized I'm famished. You must be too. Can I invite you to stay for dinner? It's not much but it is tasty." She gratefully accepted.

As I cooked, she sang and told stories. Most of the time it was in Commonspeak but here and there were different languages - some sound vaguely familiar while others were just plain strange.

After eating and cleaning up, I asked if she needed a place to sleep. "It's awfully generous but I've got a wagon and donkey parked by the entryway to your footpath here. Marvin, that's my donkey, will be fine - he's got plenty to eat. And my wagon's got a bed in it. That's one thing I got early on in my travels! It may sound romantic to sleep under the stars or even under a tent, but a real bed is priceless. So I'm all set for tonight.

"But I do want to thank you for your hospitality today. Would it be ok if I made us some breakfast tomorrow before I head into the town?"

"Thank you! Sounds lovely. Oh - are you here for the Spring Festival? It's not for three weeks yet, but I believe it's quite the thing."

"Three weeks early? I... I guess I lost track of the days! It's longer than I usually stay in any one place, but let's see how things go and if it makes sense, I'll stay for it."

The sun was on the verge of dipping below the horizon when Bess, whistling, made her way towards her wagon.

And as I went to bed, I felt... it was like a warm spot in my soul. I have penpals (and a Best Bestie!) but this, this instantaneous friendship, is wonderful!

I woke up the next morning in a fantastic mood. And yes, it was before the sun rose! I wanted the day to start and to be long and wonderful.

Before it gets asked - yes, I had the fire up and ready to go. What I had for plates and cutlery were polished. Multiple times. It kept me from pacing in the cottage. Staying in the cottage kept me from knocking on a certain someone's wagon door!

"Nervous much?", said a bleary-eyed mouse.

"No! Why would I be?"

"No reason. Silly of me to ask."

It was a good question. Why was I so... not nervous, exactly, but... ummm... nervous. I guess. But not a bad nervous! A good nervous. A...

"Knock knock!", said the very welcome figure who stepped in.

"Hi!", I chirped. 

She laughed throatily. "You're quite awake. Sleep ok?"

"I did! And you?"

"So good. Ready for breakfast a la Bess?"

"Ravenous."

"Good! Then let's get cooking!"

Bess surveyed what I had, then grabbed a few ingredients and started cooking. It smelled... ummm... how to put it?... alarmingly bad. 

"Can I help?", I asked as I peered over her shoulder. 

There was this look on her face, a comical mix of apology, embarrassment, and overwhelm. "I really wanted to surprise you with a good breakfast. And I think I really wanted to surprise myself with the ability to make one! But... ah... it's not to be this morning. I'm sorry I've wasted the food."

"No worries! How about this - you tell a tale or two and I'll whip up a couple of omelettes tout de suite." 

I tossed her cooking atrocity out and quickly replaced it with my plain Jane (but filling and tasty) fair. Meanwhile, she told a story about the love of a fisherman, who lived along a river, for a river nymph and the child that was born from that relationship. His name was Bank and he lived a remarkable life. It was as if the spirit of humanity and the river water combined to form someone who could go with the flow when needed but could also blast through and around any and all obstacles in his way. He became a wise mayor, a beneficent provider, and a fierce protector. When he died at the ripe old age of 352 years, his body was placed in the river, where it literally dissolved and washed away. 

I had to force myself to not pay all my attention to her telling - I didn't want to scrap yet another breakfast attempt!

As we ate, I decided to tease Bess a little. "Where did you learn your cookery skills?" I grinned as I asked.

She took a minute to chew a few extra, and perhaps not absolutely necessary, times. "I... ah... didn't spend much time in kitchens, growing up. I was... ah... doing other things. Other chores. You know?"

I had to ask. "So... what were you trying to put together this morning?"

She gave me a weak smile. "Tavern keepers make it look so easy - just throw things together and have it be delicious. So I figured, how hard can it be? Now I know! I should've stuck with roasting miscellaneous rodent and/or birds on a spit over an open fire."

"Open fire - check. But I'm a bit short on rodent."

We both laughed and finished eating. We both started to say, "Shall we...?", then stopped.

I looked at her, crossed my arms, then said, "Well? Shall we?" And she did the same back. "Well? Shall we?" And laughing, we both said "yes" at the same time. And then we both just stood there. Which was funny on its own. 

"What did we just say we should do?", I asked.

"I thought it was some combination of cleaning up, then heading into High Rannoc. I need to ingratiate myself at a local tavern..."

"The. There's only one. The Copper Fox."

"... right. Right! The tavern. And start playing sets. That brings in customers which then brings me silver, and the occasional free drink, and everyone is happy."

"Ok. Good! And I'll.. I guess..."

"Why, you shall provide cures as needed, listen enraptured to me, and overall have a good time. What say you?"

It sounded good. Great even. It'd be nice to have a reason to stay in town for a while, socialize a bit (and hopefully that silly mayor business had, or would, blow over), and just relax. It'd be a rare treat. We cleaned up, then headed to her wagon.

To say it's a modest wagon is, well... accurate. It's quite small and, in essence, a tiny cabin on wheels. Painted on each side of the cabin walls are painted pictures of Bess and a mandolin. Words certainly weren't needed - the pictures got the idea across. And besides, I don't think a lot of people know how to read.

As we approached, her donkey looked up from grazing. Now - I might've been seeing things, but I swear the donkey gave Bess a quick questioning look and she just as quickly shook her head ever-so-slightly no. I would've disregarded it completely if not for the flash of resigned annoyance on the donkey's face and the accompanying snort. Bess looked at me and saw incomprehension. "Oh, don't mind Marvin. You know how donkeys are."

Right. It seems my adage about things not being as they seem has now been extended to encompass Bess and Marvin. So long as it's not harmful to me, we're all good!

She got Marvin harnessed in and we rode on the wagon together for the few minutes it took to arrive outside the Copper Fox Tavern. And not much after that, I'd introduced Fussy and Bess, her wagon was positioned to showcase a bard was now in town, and she was already playing for the couple of patrons eating their meals.

I felt bad that so few people were here to listen, but both Fussy and Bess assured me everything was just fine. Give it time, they said. Advertising comes in many forms, they said. It'd be the crowd tonight that would dictate just how successful (or not) Bess had been at drawing and keeping a crowd.

And they were so right. The afterwork and dinner crowd was bigger than usual (so said Fussy), but it was the rowdy evening crowd that Bess really played to. The songs were boisterous, bawdy, bodacious even. And a major hit. People sang, danced, swayed (mostly from the enormous amounts of beer and spirits being consumed), and overall had a fantastic time. Fussy was run off his feet keeping up with orders, Robert Robertson was doing his best to help, and even I got enlisted. The roar of the room was enough to bury whatever mean and/or rude comments were directed towards me.

As the nighttime entertainment continued, the mayor and his wife came in and sat down. Things got a bit tense at first, almost as if the people in the room were embarrassed to be having a good time, but the mayor quickly began singing along with the songs and the room exhaled. His wife, a severe-looking woman, sat watching the proceedings, not participating much at all. Maybe it was because she was under the weather - her nose looked red and she was constantly dabbing at it with a handkerchief. And not much after coming in, she left, leaving her husband to get more and more drunk.

They didn't pay attention to me at all. Thank all the gods for that!

At some point, Bess called it a night, the crowd dispersed, Fussy started cleaning the tavern before counting the take, and Robert and I did our best to help clean up. By the time we were all done, it was super late, I was exhausted, and we all started to head to our collective beds.

I'd figured Bess had gone to her wagon to sleep since I didn't see her outside. So I started heading home. Which is when MouseEye popped onto my shoulder. "Something's wrong. Go check on Bess."

That woke me up. Alarm bells, accompanied with flashes of red-hot fire, flashed through my mind's eye. "Where is she?"

"Down near the Lunar Tower."

As I began to run, I asked, "Is anyone with her? Is she ok?"

"No. And no."

Minutes later, and following the sound of coughing, I found her sitting with her back to the solid rock of the Ritual Stone. The little labyrinth that led to the centre was still filled with debris but she'd somehow made her way through. 

"Bess?", I called.

"What's happening to me?", she cried.

At first I thought she was referring to her coughing. And then, after a minute, I realized she was definitely referring to her coughing. 

"I was feeling fine! But I needed a bit of air so I walked down here. And then I started hacking away! But I still feel fine! *cough cough*

Her voice is mellow, melodious, rich. The cough was rough, severe, and an octave or two higher than it should've been. She was coughing someone else's cough.

I asked if she wanted company going back to the wagon. 

"I can't go back into town! If people suspect I'm unwell, they'll at best assume I won't be performing for a few days. At worst they'll blame me for all the pounding headaches and body aches they're going to feel from being hungover. No - I'll stay here. But... can you help me?"

Mentally, I scanned the old witch's book and found a diagnosis: Ventriloquist Cough. I needed to act fast, if for no other reason that Bess' voice could be affected for days, and also because the silly goose insisted on staying out here. Even when I offered her to stay at my cottage, she declined.

Ok then. Time for this witch to do her thing.

I raced home and scanned the book for the cure details. Ghost Goo, already in the cupboard, would take care of half the problem. For the other, I needed to go to... the Hollow.

I stifled my automatic complaining about the place and instead grabbed my things and headed off with MouseEye on my shoulder.

"You don't suppose...", I started to say as I made my way towards the dungeon.

"Suppose what?"

It felt like I knew what was going on, on one level at least, but the dots just weren't connecting in the 'racing-to-the-area-I-hate-after-spending-the-day-being-around-more-people-than-I've-ever-been-around-in-my-life-and-exhausted-from-a-half-dozen-different-causes-not-least-of-all-was-a-magical-malady-that-had-struck-my-new-friend' level.

But luck was with me. In a couple of ways, in fact. One was that I didn't trip and kill myself. And the other was that I found a map at the Hollow's entrance. Which is to say that MouseEye spotted it and called my attention to it.

As maps go, it was pretty terrible. I knew enough about the Hollow to spot several errors and omissions. But what it did show was the location of Darkwater. It was something I'd never used before and was located in a part of the dungeon I hadn't explored yet. But! - and this was a big but - it was exactly what I needed.

In my mind, back at the level that was busy connecting dots, more and different dots were being drawn into the big picture (or pictures, I had no clue), which I was still not grasping at my current level (which pretty much consisted of stumbling forward towards the next needed step to make a potion).

I hoped the Mimic, as Igor calls it, would show up and guide me. Nope. I hoped MouseEye would talk to me to help distract me from my exhaustion. Didn't happen. And, frankly, I was too tired to ask. But the map was accurate enough and by following it, I reached a... it's not something you can call a well or spring. It was kind of like a pool full of a heavy, very sweet, very dark, syrup. I'd hesitate to add hot water and turn it into a tea; it was just that sweet!

A little while later, I was back home prepping the potion. Ghost Goo boiled and to it I added the raw Darkwater (and since Darkwater induces a medical sleeping condition, I added some Wigfish to counteract it). With it all prepped, I made my way back to Bess.

True to her word, she'd stayed at the Ritual Stone, still coughing that awful hack. I navigated the brambles so I could hand her the potion. A few gulps of potion later, and gagging from the clinging and cloying sweet, she stopped coughing. We both waited to see if the dreaded cough would come back. It didn't, leaving both of us relieved.

We were now, both of us, leaning against the cool, heavy stone, enjoying the coughless quiet and (for me, anyway), the lack of creepy dungeon darkness. The night here was refreshing - dark but delightful. 

"Thank you. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't cured me." She leaned over and laid her head on my shoulder. It felt... comfortable.

"I think it would've gone away on its own. Someone cursed you. Someone with a cough, I should say, cursed you to cough for them. So after they would've stopped coughing, you'd've stopped too. But it's good we got it stopped before your singing voice was affected."

The quiet settled on us again. Until...

"Sweet? Did that potion have to be so... sweet?"

"Well... of course!", I replied in mock outrage. We both got a chuckle from that.

"Shall we head to bed? It's really starting to get chilly." I think I said that. Maybe she did. I was so tired I think we both ended up napping where we were sitting. By mutual agreement, we headed back. I had to walk through town to exit through the correct gate, so I walked her to her wagon.

"Thank you again. I mean it. Thank you." She gave me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek before dashing inside her wagon. And I... I walked home. Both happy that I'd cured her and miserable that the night had come to an end.

Numb, I trudged home, undressed (more out of habit than anything else), and collapsed into bed.

Ordinarily, that would be that. I'd effected a cure, they'd left, and I was left alone to my own devices. Ordinarily, that was the order of things, the normal course of affairs, my preferred existence. But... today?... tomorrow?... yesterday?... what time is it? What day is it? *sigh* What use is it asking these tough questions when the blankets are very securely over my head, blocking out whatever is going on out there? I'm good right here, lying still, hearing the birds chirp. So... morning? I guess? Morning's for the birds. Let them enjoy it. I'll just lie here until... the cows come home. And that's a safe saying, given my absolute lack of anything resembling a bovine. Now that that's settled, I'll just lie here until... there's a whistling on the wind. A non-bird, and very non-bovine, whistling. A...

"Knock knock, anybody home?"

I heard her open the door and walk in. I heard her walk over to the edge of the bed. I felt her sit on the edge. And I felt her gently tap my head through the blankets, and laugh. "That was quite the night. I'm glad you've slept in. So, how about this - you make breakfast, I'll serenade you while you do, and then you can take me somewhere that's beautiful, peaceful, and above all free of people insisting that I carry the burden of their coughing."

There was warmth in her voice. Caring. Concern. Compassion. But I just... I just lay there.

"Or I could cook up something extra special for us and..."

The way to a man's heart may be through his stomach, but the way to a woman's brain is through threatening to make a horrid mess of her kitchen.

I popped my head out from under the blankets. And immediately regretted it - it was so bright!

"Ok, maybe more like lunch. I'm not picky."

I looked around as if seeing everything for the first time. Then looked up into Bess' face. Her smiling face.

"Oh yeah. I told Fussy I'd take today off but that I'll play in or around the tavern until the festival."

I became aware that: 1. I couldn't get out of bed because she was sitting on the blankets and, 2. If I did get out of bed, I'd be quite... exposed. "Wanna give me a few minutes?"

"Sure thing."

In a repeat of yesterday (was it really only yesterday?), she settled on a seat near the cottage, humming and singing, while I quickly got around and then let her know I was dressed.

I cooked, she sang, we both ate. Lovely.

As we cleaned up, she asked where I was taking us. It seemed like an opportune time to check to see if Lady Copeland had written back, and of course the beach and Loch are gorgeous, so I suggested we go there.

As to how... I'd never tried two people on my broom but thought it'd be fun to try. So we stepped outside, I held up my hand, and Vapour Trail came as called.

"That is so cool that you can do that! And I still can't believe you own a real-live flying broom!"

It took a few minutes to figure out what seating configuration was best, but finally with me in front and Bess behind me, arms around my waist, off we went. My head still wasn't fully there, so I kept the showboating to a minimum. But, of course, I had to do a little! I felt Bess' uncertainty in the movement of Vapour Trail and so kept the ride fluid and loose. There was no sense in doing something risky and crashing into a tree.

The Loch's waters gently lapped the shore, a breeze kept the leaves moving to and fro, and the sand was warm. A perfect day at the beach!

I told her about the message in a bottle I'd gotten from my newest penpal. I then recited the poem she'd written. Bess' eyes went wide as the words rolled off my lips.

"Wow. Um... hmmm...", was all Bess said.

We stayed all day. We swam, sun-bathed, talked, joked, traded stories. I think she began composing one to start memorializing her trip to High Rannoc. It was lovely.

The sun began to set. Shadows lengthened, the breeze off the water picked up, even the temperature began to drop.

Two more things happened. The first wasn't so much something that happened but more what was noticed. Vapour Trail, which has a perpetual glow (thanks to the Pop O' Lock that merged with her), became more and more bright (comparatively) and brilliant. It took my breath away. For Bess - she was left nearly speechless. "I wondered if your broom glowed but I chalked it up to tricks of the light. But, wow, was I ever wrong! How...?"

It was as she was trying to put her feelings into words that the second thing happened: from a mist that began to rise from the Loch's waters, a ship emerged. A misty, ghostly, ethereal, three-masted ship. And on the deck of the ship were crew members. Looking at us. While we looked at them. And then Bess and I looked at each other. 

"Are you doing that?" Which makes sense for her to ask because I was wondering if somehow she was!

"No. And I take it you aren't."

"Not I, said the cat."

That stopped me - which is funny because her response caught my attention more, in that moment, than the ship and crew that had just materialized. "What's that about a cat?"

"Little Red Hen. An old tale. I'll tell it to you sometime."

Ah. As I digested that, the ship's captain came to the rail. "Ahoy! What might these waters be called?"

"Meltwater Loch!", I yelled back.

A pause, then, "Might you know the way to the township known as 'Racine'? It's famous for its moss piglet exhibition."

Bess and I looked at each other and shared shrugs. "Sorry, haven't heard of it, let alone know how to get there."

Another pause. "Well, apparently neither does my Navigator! No matter! We're here and anchored. I'd be honoured if you'd grace us with your presence onboard!"

Another shared shrug. "Sure!"

"Wonderful! Wait there and I'll have a boat launched to bring you over."

I raised my hand and Vapour Trail, in all her lighted glory, shot into my hand.

"Or you can make your own way here!"

A minute later, Bess and I were on deck. And minutes after that, there were songs, dancing, and drinking all over the ship. Bess reached for an accordion and played songs. As crew members sang their songs and told their tales, she was actively listening, learning, absorbing. She collected songs and tales the way I collect reagents - every chance we get!

I did hear someone say something like "Well shiver me timbres! Listen to that voice." before an older crew member slapped him across the chest. "Mind yourself or go below." And then the first one said something like, "Well, Quartermaster, I hear you, but there's a... a mast belowdecks and..." followed by another slap. "These ladies are the Captain's guests. Would you insult the Captain and his guests, and sully his hospitality?" There was a far more meek "No, sir." and then the Quartermaster ended with "Then not another word on the matter." It all struck me as odd, but then again, so much of what tends to happen to and around me is odd, I didn't give it another thought. Instead, I danced. It was fun and joyous. And thankfully didn't require much skill; enthusiasm was all.

While I could close this out with the nuts and bolts of the remainder of the night until finally we found ourselves to our respective beds, instead I'll leave it full of sea shanties, jigs, and the pure expressions of being alive.

That, and the repeated insistence of the Navigator that it hadn't been a mistake to not make a course correction to port off the coast of Albuquerque. 

Spring, Week 7 - That Which Giveth, That Which Taketh Away

To hear the narration and learn how I put the episode together, check out the video:

*****

 The days are getting longer, the nights shorter. Nature is drinking up the sunshine, bringing life and activity to the land. Not to say that the land's been dead! Far from it! But there's a noticeable difference in tonight's sunset than there was when I first arrived seven weeks ago.

Seven weeks! I can't believe time has gone so fast! And I'm certainly not the same person I was, bumbling into a role that, if I'm being completely honest, would have seemed an insurmountable challenge. And yet here I am.

I feel like I'm at peace with things. I know there's more to be discovered, more territory I've yet to visit, more ailments that will need treatment, but I'm at peace with where I am, and even who I am.

Watching the last of the twilight dim, I felt like I'd been part of a daily ceremony, the changing of the guard from day to night. Oddly satisfying, in its way, almost as if the desire to do morphs into the desire to rest. And that, after any day at the cottage, is a feeling I willingly embrace!

I'd banked the fire, letting it sleep. It too would be called upon with the new day. Pop's gentle glow as it moved about the cottage, floating where it will or settled on the spirit house, was comforting. MouseEye's usual spot was empty, but that in itself wasn't unusual - he would just as often disappear as reappear... ok - that's obvious, I guess! What I'm trying to say is that MouseEye isn't tied to my side. Wherever he is, I know he's safe. And I hope he's not intrusive or indiscreet!

Which brings my thoughts to Roger. Bathing. That was... I just don't need to see that much of anyone ever again! Chuckling to myself (and probably I'll be chuckling about it for a very long time), I sat in front of the spirit house, relaxed and breathed, and let the day's memories and labours release.

I did wonder, as I sat, if when I sleep I somehow connect with the Here Yet Not Here. Is it somewhere you can go? Much like up beyond the clouds in Madcap's balloon, could a voyager find themselves Here Yet Not Here? What would that be like? How would it work?

Could I package myself up, set myself on the mantlepiece, and end up... at Pip's house? Could I go elsewhere? What would that be like!?!

When I start to let my mind wander at night (like I "let" it - it just flies off in a direction and I feel like I'm running after it - again like Madcap's balloon), I know my sleep will be more active, less restful. I'll have cobwebs aplenty come morning but maybe overnight I'll garner insights, or inspirations, or epiphanies. But none of that will come until I let me mind drift off with head on pillow.

I close my eyes and doze off. Sleep envelopes. 

And a knock awakens. "Mithtrith?"

Igor? Pop's glow increased, allowing me to find my clothes and throw them on.

Opening the door, I saw Igor's worried face, brows knitted, hands (all three) clenching and squeezing, always in motion. "Please, come in. Take a seat and tell me what brings you here."

He did as I invited. And then told me about Richard, Count von Rannoc, vampire, necromancer. "He doethn't theem himthelf. And now he'th thaying he wantth to watch the thunrithe."

"It... I mean... he won't die, will he?", I asked.

"No. But it thertainly won't be good for him."

"Do you want me to tend to him?"

"I'm embarrathed to athk, but yeth. Pleathe. Thith ith beyond me."

I spent some more time asking about his condition, when it'd started, noticeable symptoms. And Igor, being not just an assistant but one versed in science and observation, was a wealth of information.

As I consulted the old witch's book, MouseEye sat down on the open page. I asked with a glance if he'd heard everything. With a small nod he indicated he had. With a small shrug I said I wasn't sure what it was but tentatively pointed at an ailment description. With a small shrug back he said my guess was as good as his so let's run with that diagnosis for now. 

Or maybe he thought we were talking about something completely unrelated to the visit. 

Anyway, I thought about a plan of action for the case. I had Princess Toad mucous already (and what is it with so many reagents being slimy and gross!?!). Mixed with Coldrust (and luckily I knew where to get some in Hero's Hollow), it'd make a cure for the ailment known as Loss of Experience. I had no idea how someone so old and knowledgeable as the Count could catch something like this, but it made sense in all other respects.

I grabbed the slime... sorry... the mucous reagent... and a few other things and made ready to go to the dungeon. I wasn't sure if I was more or less comforted that Igor would be joining me but I figured at the very least he'd make for interesting conversation on the way.

Such was not the case. Igor, despite appearances, could walk faster than was comfortable for me. I half-trotted to keep up, not leaving me with much breath for talking. I did manage to ask if the Count knew we were coming.

"No. But the Marthter will apprethiate your expertithe when we arrive."

From what I'd gathered about the necromancer's temperament when confronted with the unexpected, this wasn't a great idea. I tried to trust Igor's judgement. I'd almost succeeded by the time we entered the Hollow.

I opted to detour us to the armoury, the site of my last Coldrust harvest, to gather some before making our way to the Count's rooms. The rusting magical weapons and armour may be of no use to warriors but it's a treasure trove of Coldrust for me!

Igor then led us to his "Marthter'th chamberth". It was a quick walk - again mostly because Igor was moving at a speed that would be a near-certain ankle twister for anyone else. Maybe he found a way to distill some of the faires' rat spit so that he could go faster?

I felt my mind begin to wander. And... I stopped it. This was no place to not pay attention to where you're stepping!

Soon enough, we arrived. Igor bade me stay back a couple of paces - to announce me, I guess. I heard:

"Marthter? Mithtrith Thweetwater ith here to thee you."

"Why? For what purpose? And have you seen my book on theories of the beyond?"

"Yeth, Marthter. It'th on your dethk, Marthter. And no, I don't know why the witch ith here, Marthter."

"Hmm? Ah, yes. The book is here. Very good. And now if only I had my codex handy..."

"It'th altho on your dethk, Marthter. Next to the book."

"Ah. Yes. So it is. Good. Umm... I feel like I'm missing something..."

"Yeth, Marthter. Mithtrith Thweetwater ith here to thee you."

"Is she? I'm... very busy... have her... uh..."

As they were talking, Igor reached for my arm, then gently guided me forward. Then another arm reached behind me and gave me a hefty shove forward on my back. I looked up into the eyes of a startled necromantic vampire.

I did mention, didn't I, that his behaviour when startled isn't exactly... carefully considered? Today, however, was different.

"Oh! Mistress Sweetwater, right? How unexpected."

I turned to look for Igor. He was gone.

"I... ah... yes. I thought I'd check in on you. I..."

"Check in on me? Hmmm... Why? Has Igor been gossiping again?"

"Ah... no! No. But he did say you were contemplating watching the sunrise and I thought it'd be lovely to do together."

"Did he now? And... was I really planning to do that? Well... sorry you came all this way, but I'm far too busy to be galavanting off. I've... have you seen my book on theories of the beyond?"

As I was about to point it out, I spotted MouseEye standing on it (but out of sight of the Count, of course) making "danger" motions: thumb drawn across the neck, glassy eyes with tongue lolling, arms crossed in front of his chest making a big X. I walked up to the table, took the book (somehow MouseEye disappeared. Maybe as I blinked?), pretended to read it, then said, "I think you meant to get it from the library but you grabbed the wrong one. Let me get the right one for you."

As I stepped out of the room, I heard Richard start talking to himself about finding another something or other. Igor was waiting.

"Do you thee what I mean? He'th not right in the head."

"Can I use your lab? I'm sure it's Loss of Experience, but I don't know how he would've contracted it. Unless... where did this book come from?"

"That? Oh... I'm not thure. Which ith odd. An adventurer did vithit a couple of dayth ago. I wath buthy in the lab, and I don't pry into the Marthter'th buthineth, but I do catalogue all the bookth. Thith one I've never theen. I wonder if the Marthter bought it. It theemth odd that he would, but then again..."

"I wonder if it's a trapped book. Like maybe you start to read it and instead of giving you information, it takes it. Does that sound plausible?"

"That'th... you know, people think of necromantherth ath evil becauthe they work with the dead and death. But thith... to turn a book from a giver to a taker... that'th real evil."

Igor took the book. "I'll examine it while you brew."

I just looked at him. "You can be so certain, and safe, while doing it so fast?"

He looked back at me. "You can brew a pothun tho fatht and be thertain you and he will be thafe?"

"Point taken."

He laughed. "Anyway, forewarned ith forearmed."

A few minutes later we reconvened. We both said, "Is it...?", then stopped. I let Igor go first.

"Trapped, as you thuthpected. The book itthelf ith inert. You had to thtart reading the text for the trap to thpring." He then looked at me more sharply. "How did you know?"

I was about to answer when I heard a mouse-y voice behind me. "I told her."

Igor shot me an appraising look. "That familiar ith a keeper if ever there wath one. Now - the pothun?"

I held up the cup holding it.

"Will thith... rethtore him?"

I didn't know. So that's what I answered.

"Here'th to hoping." He took the cup and entered the Count's study. "Reading ith thirthty work. Here'th a refrethment."

The Count, for his part, was standing in front of a tapestry. But he wasn't actively looking - the body was too slumped, the head not quite square. It was like no one was home. He clearly wasn't reading. He clearly wasn't doing much of anything. But he did take the drink without a word and downed it. And then we waited.

The changes were subtle but added up to awareness being reawakened. Then, slowly, he looked at us. Sometimes vampires are depicted with red flames in their eyes. Other times they're shown with wolfish grins and protruding canines. I'd never seen the Count like that. Until this moment.

"What?" The demand was directed at Igor.

"The new book, Marthter."

"Where?"

"Ditharmed. In the Library."

The vampire then turned to me.

"You?"

I was speechless. Frozen. The intensity of that gaze... it grabbed everything I was and blasted it aside. I just stood there, mute.

"Her. Yeth, Marthter."

Richard, Count von Rannoc, slowly approached me, never breaking eye contact. All I could see was his eyes, and beyond them, the Void. He reached down, took my hand, and kissed it. "You, witch, are worthy of the name. I'm indebted to you."

My brain slowly dragged its way back. "I... ah... just brewed a potion."

He continued to stare through me. "No. You returned me. Aside from your usual rate for the mundane task of brewing a potion, I am in your debt. The silver is a pittance. And you shall not refuse."

The more laggard pieces of my mind started to recover. "No."

The Count's eyes blazed again. Before he could speak, I continued. "I will accept that I've done you a greater service than simply treat a condition. And I accept that you feel indebted to me. But it's something I never intend to call. For me, there is no debt."

The stare, that terrible stare, continued. But now I was back, aware, fully myself. And I was able to absorb the stare and withstand it, hold it, and even calmly return it. And he laughed. "Never let it be said that witches are simply crazy women living in little cottages who mutter over steaming cauldrons." Then he held up a hand. "I, for one, have never said such a thing. Others? Yes. But not me."

Of a sudden, he looked drained. "Would you care to sit with me a moment? Apparently I need time to recover. Igor? Some tea please."

"Yeth, Marthter. With pleathure."

The Count and I sat. He more reclined. "Your predecessor. She warned me once about this, or something similar. 'They only have to get lucky once. You must remain perpetually vigilant.' Oh, the tongue lashing she'd've given me, were she here."

He looked deep in thought, formulating what to say next. "She was something, you know. A force of nature. She, a witch, working with all things from birth to death. And me, a necromancer, working with death as birth." He paused. Then, "They say opposites attract. But there was no way it would ever work. And then she went to the Imperial City."

That stopped me. I didn't think he knew about that, that Igor had intercepted her letter to him. He saw my facial expression and laughed. "Igor's protective. But that doesn't mean I'm ignorant."

"Your tea, Marthter. Mithtreth."

"Thank you, Igor.", said the Count.

"Should I track down the culprit, Marthter?"

"No. No doubt the poor fool was duped or geased. The real perpetrator will have clean hands. So we'll have to be more circumspect in our search."

"Yeth, Marthter."

Igor left and the Count and I talked for a while longer. At some point, I yawned. The Count reacted. "Dear me! I just realized what time it is! You must be exhausted! Shall I have Igor prepare a guest room for you?"

It was tempting, but really all I wanted was the peace of my own cottage and the safety of the land surrounding me. So I declined. And soon after, headed out.

On the way out, two things happened.

One was that I passed by the Silverleaf outcropping and gathered some. And then, remembering this unlucky fellow who'd bled to death trying to harvest it. I gathered some Old Blood from near him. Show me a witch who doesn't harvest reagents when they have the chance and I'll show you, not a witch, but a crazy woman living in a cottage muttering over a steaming cauldron. Ha! I still can't believe he said that!

The other thing that happened is that while I was walking passed the jail cells and paying them no mind, I heard a poorly stifled sneeze. It... no... it couldn't be...

I stopped and looked. And then I saw. A figure huddled in a cell, trying to hide. "Show yourself.", I said. I was calm. I was cool. I was collected. And I had a very interested vampire relatively close at hand if things went really badly.

"Um... hello?", it said. He, I amended. He said.

"Let me guess. You gave a necromancer a book, probably not willingly, and you are now stuck here, scared, and not knowing the way out."

"I did what?" The panic in his voice spoke volumes. He didn't know what he'd done. "Please, miss, I woke up here. I don't know where here is, but it isn't where I want to be!"

"I won't hurt you. You're safe. Come on out and I'll show you how to get out." It took more convincing than that, but he did eventually join me. I knew the way pretty well by this point, so it was a quick and easy journey to the exit. The feel of the nighttime air felt so much better than the dungeon's stagnancy. 

"Oh thank the heavens! I'm out! Here, miss, this is yours!", he shouted as he dropped a pouch at my feet, and ran off. I picked it up, felt the weight, and heard the clink of coins. I'd count it later. My main thought in that moment was the hope that he'd find his home ok.

As for me, I went home. But instead of going to bed, I sat outside and waited. It didn't feel like a long time but it gave me time to decompress, to process, to wonder, and to eventually watch the sunrise.

Spring, Week 6 - She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain

To listen to the narration (and learn how I put the episode together), check out this video:

*****

 "Sorry. What? How about this - sit down, take a nice deep breath, then when you're ready, take it from the top."

As Roger began to work through this calming exercise, I was able to take a minute to reflect on what had been, until his arrival, a lovely morning. 

I'd spent it quietly, starting with my now usual practice of sitting and breathing in front of the spirit house. Afterwards, I spent some time with the bees. They'd flown around me, landed on me, and gently swarmed me. Far from creepy, it was comforting. Although their little gripper feet can be a bit much on bare skin!

I was within that communion of companionship when this loud lout had burst upon the grounds. Thankfully he was consistently loud so I wasn't hurt by startled bees.

At first I'd tried to ask Roger about why he was here, but all he'd been doing is talking, and acting out something that had happened somewhere. I was hoping he'd make more sense after taking a minute to settle. But in watching him try to sit quietly, it was clear there was something going on bodily - he just couldn't sit still. And what's more, odd movements kept happening. It was like watching something in a bag trying to get out.

Despite that, he did quiet down. And told me his story.

"You remember that I'm an adventurer, right? I approached you in the Copper Fox a few weeks ago and offered to guard you on your foraging journeys. Say! Why haven't you ever hired me? I'm really good at guarding and guiding. I mean, ok, yes, my armour is bits of what I can find to cover my important bits but I'm saving up for a quality piece of leather. It's going to be awesome! There're these trim pieces, red, you know, that'll set it off and..."

I help up my hand, hoping he'd stop talking. Again. "Yes, Roger, I remember you. I've been managing reagent gathering just fine. But I haven't forgotten your kind offer."

"And affordable!"

"Yes, very affordable. But not needed by me to date. So why don't you tell me what brings you here."

"Right! Yes! Well, I was hired to take my customer... sorry - my client - to Hero's Hollow."

"Ok. Who was your client?"

"Oh! Sorry - I have a strict policy of not revealing my clients' identities. Anyway, apparently there's a necromancer living in the dungeon. So we went in search of a reanimated skeleton. We had money to pay!"

*Sigh* So the doctor was still in search of a living skeleton. "So what happened?"

"We made our way to where my client knew the necromancer lives. And we met this... I guess... person? Anyway, we got there. This... person... directed me to a room while the necromancer and my client conducted their business.

"There was so much cool stuff in the room! I swear I didn't hear anyone say anything about not stepping into the chalked star-shape on the floor. But let me tell you, I heard about it right after I did it. The necromancer threw us out! My client was so angry. Anyway, there was some other stuff yelled back and forth but I couldn't focus on it. Not that any of that stuff would have made sense to me even if I'd been paying attention. Instead, I started feeling really weird. Like I wanted my body to do one thing but things kept trying to move in weird ways. I mean, I'm a highly trained warrior! Reflexes that just... Snap!... like a trap. Here - watch!"

I stood there, politely, watching. I didn't care about his... air sword attacks and air shield blocks, I guess you could call it. I watched as bones continued to move about in decidedly odd ways. It was if his skeleton had become reanimated inside his body. Restless Bones, the witch's book calls it. It's annoying to have but doesn't progress beyond the bones trying to move independently. The muscles help to keep everything in check. 

Roger had just finished reenacting some sort of mythic battle where he was the sole survivor. I interrupted his victory speech. "Roger, why didn't the doctor treat you?"

"Umm... well..."

 I just raised my eyebrows, waiting for what was going to be a ridiculous answer. 

"He said I have PNSD. Post Necromancer Stress Disorder. He said I'll be fine in a few weeks. And he wanted to give me some pill or other for stress. But I told him that my body is a temple and that I can't pollute it with something that'll make me sluggish. Here - watch!"

I managed to get his attention before he began slaying vast numbers of dread enemies. "I can make a potion. It'll take a bit, but I can do it. And it won't make you drowsy. Is that ok?"

"That sounds great! Here - watch as I show you how I defeated the Moose-headed Minotaur!"

"That's great. Yeah. Just great. Say! How about I direct you to these trees over here. Yes, these trees. The trees that are a good ways away from the cottage and my bee hive. Ok? I'm going to gather some things and head out. You can stay here until I'm back."

*****

"It's nice being out here. The peace. The quiet. No trying to chop down a tree using a twig." MouseEye perched on my shoulder, echoed what I'd been thinking. He continued. "Although it does seem a bit cruel to whack a living tree repeatedly with a piece of dead tree. I mean... trees have feelings too."

I said, "I do hope they have a good sense of humour."

MouseEye shrugged. "I'd think they're rather uptight. How else can you grow so tall?"

We both had a good laugh.

It felt good to be out, walking, enjoying the sun, the breeze, and the gentle odours that floated on it. Not to mention the mountain looming ahead of us. Somewhere up there was Glittersnow - the product of snow absorbing the power within ley lines. Combined with a bit of Wild Rose, that lovely flower growing in my plant bed, Roger and his amazing reactions/warrior instincts/pure physicality would be restored. Which, I'm sure to the relief of the trees, would result in relief in not having him whack them over and over as he tried out various battle cries.

I thought about the best way to locate the Glittersnow and it occurred to me that rather than find snow and hope it was on a ley line, that instead I should look for a ley line and follow it up the mountain until I hit snow. Rather brilliant of me, I wasn't ashamed to admit!

The trick, then, was to find a ley line. And for that, I didn't need my eyes. (In fact, they'd get in the way). Instead, I focused internally, paying attention to my intuition. (While there are other methods of finding ley lines, like pendulums and divining rods, they're just methods of focusing intuition). It did take a while of navigating the hills and terrain of the Mountain while staying focused on the ley line (and in there as well was MouseEye, who began telling jokes. It would've made things more difficult if I'd been laughing, but his jokes were so bad I only groaned.)

After finding a ley line, I then began following it. Unfortunately, they don't adjust course to help searchers navigate around sheer rock walls or through thick berry brambles. It took a while to finally reconnect to the ley line in a space with snow. But I found it, celebrated, and collected some (and celebrated again because who couldn't use a bit of victory dance in their life? However, victory speeches to phantom crowds of grateful townspeople saved from marauding hordes don't count!)

With the absolutely necessary reagent collected, I decided to look around and see if more potion ingredients were close by. Which is how I noticed a cave. It was very nondescript on the face of it. But quite comfortable and cozy inside with mosses growing at the cave mouth and on the floor. Which helps explain why a lost sheep might hunker down in it.

It "baaa'ed". I said, "Hello." And things progressed from there. Mostly due to MouseEye's ability to speak... what? Everything? Sheep, for sure. Anyway, it became pretty clear that the sheep didn't belong here. It wasn't sure where exactly it did belong, but it was able to give us a clue or two as to where to go. At least initially. And that was near the mountain, but a different face of it. We had a walk to get this sheep returned. I did have a bit of a quandary - return the sheep or get back to Whacky Roger. The sheep won out.

We picked our way along the side of Moonbreaker Mountain. There were animal paths that made things easier (when they existed and headed in roughly the supposed right way). And there were some places that were more... I don't want to say "precarious"... but there were places that guaranteed the sheep hadn't come through there. 

At one point we came across a large Gull-Drake nest. The birds weren't amused. Especially when I helped myself to bits of their nest (not structurally important bits!) and a bit of guano that was holding it together. They cried, swooped, pooped on (not collectable, unfortunately), and pecked at us. Thankfully it was more to scare than to injure. I thanked them and left (although I don't think they accepted my appreciation). 

As we made our way, the sheep had this amazing ability to find Candy Rock. And eat it. All of it. After it'd eaten the fourth lump, I began to worry it'd go into some sort of diabetic shock. How could it eat all that sweet? It was... ugh! And it would've been nice if it would leave one piece for me. (It did. Eventually. I decided to hide it deeper in a pocket than I usually put reagents because there was no telling if Sheepy would suddenly get hungry for my piece.) Clearly, with this sheep's ability to eat Candy Rock, it hadn't passed through this path. And maybe the sheep had been in a diabetic coma in that cave for a while. Maybe?

We did eventually spot a farm sitting in a lush valley. Shortly after, we heard sheep calls and sheep dogs. The sheep I was guiding no longer needed a guide  - it took off like a shot, glad to recognize its home. It took me longer to get there.

As I got closer, a few children ran out to meet me. "Did you find Gerty?", "What's your name?", "Mah!!!" were a few things yelled out. As I walked towards the main house, the children followed me and continued to yell out questions. 

A middle-aged woman emerged from the house, wiping her hands on an apron. "Greetings. Am I hearing correctly that you've brought our fool runaway sheep home?"

I said I had and that I'd found her in a Moonbreaker Mountain cave. 

"Is that a fact? I wonder what she was doing up there?"

I told her I suspected it was for Candy Rock.

"Hmm. Sounds like her. Anyway, my thanks for the service. Do you live locally? I don't believe I recognize you."

"I'm Mistress Sweetwater, the new witch near High Rannoc."

"Are you? Well, it's getting late enough that you shouldn't be travelling back. You'll twist an ankle or worse up there. You'll stay with us the night and can head back safely when the sun's up tomorrow."

I started to refuse, but she insisted. "Don't fret for room or board - we've plenty enough of both. Have to, what with all the little ones. And it's what we've always done for the High Rannoc witch."

"Oh! You knew the old witch?"

"Sure we did. Didn't come often but it was a joy to have her stay."

I was given an honour guard (one child was assigned to show me. The others came and helped) to see me to a bedroom (where I'd be sleeping with the girls) so I could clean up before supper. 

It was tasty and there was plenty. And by plenty, I don't simply mean the food. The whole family (including the father and a couple of older boys who'd been working in the fields) were excited, happy, and laughing. I think my presence was an excuse to have a bit of a party. 

After the meal and associated clean-up (I insisted that I help), we talked and sang and danced. 

Somewhere in all that I found out their family name is Bleater. I guessed sheep farming had been part of the family tradition for a long time!

Also somewhere in there, I was introduced to a song they liked to make up for guests. Apparently the old witch loved it and would come armed with a verse or two. It starts like this:

She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes (when she comes)

She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes (when she comes)

She'll be coming round the mountain

She'll be coming round the mountain

She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes (when she comes)

The she meaning me. 

The next verse was:

She'll be bringing back our Girty when she comes (when she comes)

(I'm sure you get the idea that it repeats just like the first stanza.)

And so on. 

I tried to make up a good line for the song. My creativity was "aided" with a nip (or two) or something very apple-y, very yummy, and very burn-y when swallowed! So I sang:

She'll be carrying a mouse-y when she comes (when she comes)

All eyes turned towards me when I sang that. Partly in a bit of shock, but mostly because MouseEye, the always-watchful, the never-seen, the little-trickster, was dancing on top of my head. I think I'd had enough of whatever it was for the both of us.

It was a delightful night. And overnight was... unusual... given that there were several of us all sleeping together in the same bed. Between the long day, the celebrations, and everything, I fell asleep right away. 

I was told by one of the young girls that I snored. But she said that it was funny to hear, so it was ok. 

One early, filling breakfast later, I was ready to go. Mrs. Bleater handed me a small pot of something sweet (it would keep just fine for use in my potion. She insisted on contributing to the potion since that was the original reason I'd been on the mountain in the first place). I bid them farewell and headed out.

It didn't take anywhere near as long to return as it had to get there - not trying to find and follow ley lines can save huge amounts of time! But it was mid-day when I got back to my cottage. To the peace, the quiet, and the grunts of satisfaction from skewering imagined vanquished foes.

I let him continue with his training session, I guess it'd be called, as I prepped and brewed the potion. It took seconds to mix the crushed rose hip seeds with the Glittersnow (quite melted now, but still effective), and the added sweet from the Bleaters.

My warrior prince patient would have licked it clean, I think. He seemed as eager for sweet as Girty was. Anyway, it was satisfying to see his bones finally settle down. 

The relief he was feeling was plain. His entire body relaxed. He even stopped stabbing everything around him. 

However, it was my turn to be uncomfortable. I knew he only charged ten silver for a protection trip and here I was about to charge him thirty for the potion plus four for each of the three doses of sweet. Forty-two silver. That wasn't a profitable trip for him at all!

Roger, to his credit, after he digested the cost, accepted it and paid. I encouraged him to let the doctor know about the additional cost of his healing and to add a term in his contract to include "damages to person". 

I also felt bad when he told me he'd slept the night beneath a tree. He said he felt uncomfortable sleeping in someone else's bed, especially a witch's bed. It took me a minute to digest that. But I gratefully accepted his sacrifice of personal comfort.

After he left, I got to work on the grounds. It wasn't that I'd not done anything on the land for weeks, but I wanted to get back to my usual routine. 

I finished up for the day and went into the cottage to make some food (nowhere near as tasty or as plentiful as last night's meal!), which is when I spotted a note on the mantlepiece. With a gentle glow coming from behind it.

That, I decided, would have to wait until tomorrow.

Spring, Week 4 - Don't Interrupt Necromancers

To hear the narration (and to hear how I put the episode together), check out the video:

*****

 I've gotten into the habit of taking a bit of time daily to sit quietly in the cottage and looking up at the spirit house I built. And improved. It no longer resembles a lean-to. I won't say it's a proper house, but I'm happy to call what it is currently a house. Or at least resembles a house. Whatever. It's good enough for now.

As to why I do this... it's partly because it feels right and respectful. After three weeks of banging around, not really knowing what I was doing, but insisting I did know - to the point of nearly dismissing MouseEye - I felt a need to reset a bit. The last few days were a good start and I'm hoping to continue.

Another reason is I keep wondering if another letter, maybe from my new bestie Pip, who I'll probably never meet, or maybe from someone else, might arrive at any time. I've never been one for friendships but for the life of me I don't understand why I'm so fixated on watching the mail portal. Maybe I'm waiting to see what happens if someone sends something really big.

As I sit, my mind does love to wonder. Endless speculating. Like that idea of a big letter trying to squeeze out from behind my spirit house. But another topic that I've begun to ruminate on is the ramifications of not being able to treat someone, or of having them leaving dissatisfied because I wasn't able to effect a cure or do so quickly enough. To be honest, I've been harbouring these thoughts for a little while. Private speculation. But today I saw MouseEye was awake and around, so I asked.

He twitched his whiskers (it's so cute when he does that), then shrugged. "I know there's a doctor, of sorts, in High Rannoc. I guess they'd go to him."

"Of sorts?"

He shrugged again. "Mmhmm."

I stopped myself from asking why he gave a qualified answer. If MouseEye wanted to share, he would. So I internally shrugged back. And hit on another topic.

There's no doubt there's an underlying spirit or wisdom existing on the grounds. Or in the grounds. The wild rose recovering nearly instantly from being trampled. The bees so quickly becoming part of the property. Maybe even my ability, as an untrained novice, to not only recognize but safely collect reagents and then brew them into potions that are effective. Imagine someone using pine bark and bat guano to create a potion that would decrease flatulence! But that's how I feel. Yes - I have the book and something definitely happened when I read it. A knowledge transference of sorts.

Is the old witch somehow still here? Here yet not here? Here, inside me? I can't say I'm comfortable at all with that thought. However, I don't feel like there's someone inside me or with me. I feel like my thoughts are mine and not someone else's. But definitely something to keep in mind. Not everything is as it seems.

The rest of the day progressed normally - cooking, cleaning, reading the book, and trying to teach myself about places I haven't been to yet - all the chores that keep a place organized and functioning well. And then, tired, I went to bed. Only to be woken by MouseEye with a cryptic message, "Someone needing your help is coming."

It took me a second to react, but I did shake off the cobwebs, got dressed, and just started stoking the fire when a wild-eyed man pounded on my door. As I opened it, he fell forward into my living space, all the while looking over his shoulder, like he was being chased. His hoarse screams, or more like a rough, breathy, very muted pseudo-screams, were just creepy. What had he seen that had induced such fear and panic?

That thought was interrupted by his vomiting onto my floor. Had it been a normal spilling of stomach yuck, that would have been one thing. But when the vomit, instead of simply launching from mouth to floor, formed itself into a little dancing figure that then ran out my door into the night, that was something else. If only it hadn't left little vomit footsteps on my formerly clean floor.

Anyway, out the door the vomit-man went, I stood bemused, and the hoarse man hoarsely screamed again and tried to hide under my bed. Clearly, I needed more light - maybe that'd stop the fear reaction. Maybe?

A few minutes later, the fire was high enough to provide decent light. The intermittent screaming hadn't stopped, nor had the intermittent vomiting. He'd let loose twice more - one had become a small four-legged creature and hid in my cauldron (ewww!) and the other had squeezed under my bed and, I swear this is true, was making faces at the man.

With the light up, I could see the panicked white of his eyes, his vivid green skin, and incredibly white hair. Which didn't make sense - his body hair (eyebrows, arm hair, facial hair shadow) were all black. Something had scared him half-to-death. Which helped explain the screaming.

But green skin? Vomiting magical vomit? Not a fear reaction. That was more like a poisoning.

Dealing with the poisoning was the priority - without prompt treatment, things could become... complicated. Who knows just what it was that someone had brewed, or that he'd eaten, or whatever, and what could result. But there was no doubt, what with the animated vomitus, that he'd been poisoned and it had a magical element.

As another vomit creature ran across the floor, I bent down and tried to let my patient know I was going to gather reagents to deal with the poisoning, and that we'd tackle the fear reaction next. Maybe dealing with the poisoning would deal with the other too? I was hoping.

I gathered up my stuff and headed off. At night. To Hero's Hollow. 

Ah man.

Yup - my favourite place in the whole world and I get to go there in the dark.

I tried to be brave. I tried to look up at the stars and I tried to believe they would look out for me. I tried to remember that the spirit of the cottage hadn't steered me wrong yet, even when I was out of line. And I knew MouseEye would be with me and would do what he could to keep me safe.

Despite all my worry, all my alerting to every shriek and call and snap and more - the thousand sounds the wilderness makes at night - I got to the dungeon safely. The hardest part of the night so far, getting to the Hollow, was past. Now to navigate the now hardest part - the dungeon itself. One more round of thoughts towards asking for help and guidance from the cottage, the stars, MouseEye, whomever was bothering to listen, and then I entered.

The good part about going to the Hollow at night is that your eyes don't need to adjust. You go from outdoor dark to indoor dark, which is a different quality of dark, the indoor one being more complete, but dark to dark is fairly easy.

I relaxed and made my way into the dungeon. I knew I had to work quickly so I made my way to where I hoped I could find Coldrust. It's a blue rust that feeds on magical artifacts. I was hoping I could find that type of thing in the armoury spaces. A rusty magical weapon would be perfect for my uses.

As I walked quickly, I started to hear other footsteps. They weren't my steps echoing along corridors. It sounded like a small army. But an army in thick socks. The chest!

I spotted it as it turned a corner and ran towards me. It was a happy run, an eager run, a run that hoped I had a treat in my pocket. Feeling far more confident than I had a right to, I patted my pocket and felt a treat there. Thank you, MouseEye. I didn't say it aloud, but I heard him from close by, "You're welcome."

I gave the treat. It seemed happy. So I took an extra minute to give it some pets and scrunches. I think it purred. So I told it I was here to gather some things and asked if it wanted to help. I think it yapped happily. So we all headed for the armory, where we did indeed find Coldrust. One down!

Next up was Flood Bulb. There are two places where you can generally find it - traps that are based on water, and in canteens - nothing stores water more efficiently. And so despite asking the chest for help and prepared to go wherever it led, I expected we'd go to the kitchens. And we did. It did require some gentle handling - you absolutely don't want a bulb to burst inside your pack!

As we were leaving the kitchens and heading through the cafeteria/mess hall, I spotted another lucky find - Ghost Goo. Apparently a ghost was spending a lot of time in and around where everyone ate. Maybe it was the ghost of one of the only people ever to have lived that liked mass-produced food. A slop-loving memory? Anyway, for whatever reason, a ghost was leaving bits of goo all over the tables. And so I grabbed it gratefully.

We headed back to the dungeon's entrance, the chest padding along with MouseEye and I. One more set of scrunches and I was heading back to the cottage.

Oh, the reek as I approached. I almost wished it smelled like bog goblin again. Vomit people ran out to meet me. Vomit creatures were running amok in the cottage. It was nasty. Pandemonium. Unbearable. "Sir? You have to get your vomit under control! I can't brew in these conditions!"

He pointed out the door, did another hoarse scream, and out they went. I mopped up the necessary equipment and started prepping. I tossed the Coldrust and Flood Bulb into the mortar and started working them. The water that flooded out of the bulb was more than plenty for my potion - the water that flowed onto my floor would help me clean it later. 

My patient drank the offered cup. His skin seemed to lighten slightly from a deep green to a more faded one. And, thankfully, he stopped vomiting. As a side note, I think the vomit people found an abandoned gopher tunnel system. I wish them the best.

Anyway... with that crisis dealt with, it was time to deal with the root cause of all this. The potion, thankfully, gave my patient enough voice back that, while difficult to understand, was in the end understandable.

Not that what he told me was at all sensical. While the number of shrieks decreased, and the vomiting stopped, the few words he was able to utter between his screams said only something about a necromancer. 

Right. So... someone in the local area is doing magic and working with death? Ok - it's easy to see how seeing something, especially if you're unprepared to see something, could give you a terrible fright. 

And the funny (strange, not haha) bit is that the reagents I need to deal with this are in Hero's Hollow (oh yay! Another trip to that warm and fuzzy place) and have to do with necromancy: Vampire Venom and Skeleton Dust.

Or maybe I could simply brew something up involving pine bark and bat guano? Tempting but... no.

As I got ready to head out again, I kept an eye on my patient. Still wild-eyed frightened? Yup. Still intermittently screaming? Yup. But, for now anyway, not giving the appearance of being ready to bolt out the door.

"Sir? It's going to take me a bit of time to address your fright. Please know you are safe here. There's plenty of wood to keep the fire going, keep the cottage warm, and provide lots of light. When I get back, we'll have you feeling calmer, ok?" I got a nod. Good enough. And off I went.

The sun was just rising. The last bits of low-lying mist were just starting to burn off, revealing dew-draped undergrowth. The land looked magical!

I must admit my thoughts drifted to the whole concept of magic. I suppose, for example, the work I do could be seen by some as magic, despite my not adding any sort of supernatural anything to my potions. If reagents carry power, then I'll happily use that power, but as far as waving a magic wand over a bubbling cauldron to create some sort of malevolent miasma that would swallow High Rannoc just wasn't in the cards. Same with a healing vapour that nightly would take away people's hurts, wounds... even nightmares. 

Imagine that - a vapour that would help people feel better and healthier. I wondered if something like that could be created. Hmmm... interesting. But feels more like magical meddling than healing people who ask for help with bespoke potions. 

Before I knew it, I was back at the Hollows. Now to work through the new challenge of collecting harder reagents. Time to find some vampires. Ugh. Which meant exploring deeper into the dungeon. 

I made my way deeper in than I'd gone before. I half-hoped the walking chest would show up - that would have been comforting. Maybe if I asked...?

"MouseEye?"

"Mmhmm."

I tried to keep the quaver from my voice. "You wouldn't happen to know where a vampire is, would you?"

"Mmhmm."

I love it when he's so forthcoming. In a dark, scary, and frankly horrible place. "Are we going the right way?"

"Mmhmm."

Both good and bad news in my book, both involving getting closer and closer to a vampire. I asked MouseEye to keep me on track. And that track felt darker, more musty, and quite dank.

Why can't I spend more time in more pleasant places? Glimmerwood Grove is so lovely. The trees, the wildflowers, the...

"Greetingth Mithtrith."

The voice scared the beejeebers out of me. It was behind me - which in how in the world did anyone get behind me? - but at the same time the voice was quite calm. Almost welcoming. I froze, closed my eyes tightly (somehow that was supposed to bolster my nonexistent courage), and turned around slowly. Standing there was a figure. The lack of light made seeing details, like the person's face, difficult, but the bearing seemed... ok? I think a smile was on their face. And I say "their" because the voice gave nothing away about its sex. All I was getting was polite patient curiosity. 

I figured I needed to respond at some point. "Um... hi."

"Greetingth again, Mithtrith. If I may obtherve, you appear leth lotht than unthertin. May I help you in thome way?"

Ummm... sure. Why not. What could go wrong? Even if MouseEye isn't visible, I know he's close. "Yeth... oh, sorry - yes." They didn't react at all to my list slip. "I'm looking for a vampire."

That caused, I think, eyebrows to rise. "It'th not common that thomeone theeks out a vampire. May I enquire your reathonth for doing tho?"

I saw no harm in saying I needed a vampire's venom.

"Ah! Tho you are a witch, then? Exthellent! Follow me, pleathe."

We walked down another corridor - I'm not sure if I would've spotted it on my own - and arrived at a small room. It had a small table with a couple of chairs in it, a candle that provided a bit of light, and an open book lay in front.

"Pleathe excuthe the meth. Marthter and I don't get many vithiterth. Have a theat."

I sat down slowly. Maybe even warily. Marthter?

"I don't mean to be rude, but who is your master?"

The figure came into the candlelight.

Note to self - if my patient saw this person unexpectedly, that could explain their fright. While some features spoke to good-natured friendliness, like the shy smile and gentle eyes, others were less so. The mass of scars and stitching all about their face and head, the third arm sticking out from their chest, and the small knife in that hand. My eyes glued onto it.

He looked down. "Oh! My apologieth! I feel motht comfortable with a thcapel in my hand. Thith one, however, ithn't for thurgery - it'th my dip pen." He set it down on the table then he sat in the other chair. It felt menacing but he seemed to be ignoring it.

"My marthter ith a vampire. He'th currently thleeping. It'th been a buthy night and, of courthe, it'th now day. Tho, what ith it you need venom for?"

I told him - definitely a him - about my patient. The scarred man laughed. I think it was good-natured. 

"Thorry, but you mutht thee the humour here. Your pathient came down latht night. He wanted a reanimated thkeleton, for thome reathon. Thcared my marthter motht terribly - he jutht popped out of nowhere, interrupted a delicate piethe of magical work. Which cauthed a rather dramatic meth, I'm telling you. And that thcared all of uth. Marthter had to thcramble to keep the world from imploding, the man fled into my laboratory, and I had to run after him. Marthter, of courths, would want him punithed, tho I got him to drink a pothon that would eventually turn him into a zombie. Temporarily, of courthe. Anyway, marthter called for me, tho I had to leave the man to hith own devitheth. Apparently, he ran to you. And now you wish to cure him."

Gulp. "I hope that's ok with you."

"Oh, thertanly. I bear him no ill will and like I thaid, marthter only wanted him punithed for a little while. Let'th thee... for a fright, you'll altho want thkeleton dutht. Correct?"

I could only nod.

"Wonderful. Let me take you to where you can wait. It'th the library, of thorts. I think you'll find thingth of interetht there."

The library turned out to be quite the space. The room was big and airy, book shelves lined the walls, and a ready supply of candles meant it would be easy to browse the volumes. As I started to look around, the scarred servant asked, "What happened to the old witch? Do you know?"

"No, sorry. I just moved in recently. All there was about her whereabouts was a few lines in a book that she'd written and had open. It said that if I was reading it, she must be either missing or dead."

"Hmmm... pity. Marthter quite liked her. Oh well." And with that, he was off. And I can't say that I paid much attention to his leaving. The books were drawing my attention. The range of topics was so diverse - how to reanimate anything from an ant to a dragon and all manner of creatures in between, getting answers to questions by calling on the spirits of the dead, creating loyal servants through the use of potions, and more. 

Creating loyal servants? Using potions? Um... note to self - politely decline any and all offers of beverages.

I don't know how long I'd been in there. I was just transfixed. This place was amazing. So full of secrets, knowledge, ancient wisdom... and then I discovered a letter tucked in an unassuming spot between two large volumes detailing the life and times of assorted necromancers from the distant past. It wasn't sealed or anything, so I opened it. I couldn't help but notice that the handwriting was familiar. Very familiar. It was the same as in my book. The old witch had written it. I sat down and read the whole thing.

The salutation read "My dearest Count". The letter itself was a goodbye. That she was going to be heading for someplace called "The Imperial City" and that that trip was bound to be long, dangerous, but entirely necessary - "...for reasons we've discussed at length and don't bear repeating again." But it was also an invitation - that the Count should go to her before she left in the morning. She promised a delightful night by way of goodbye but that she also understood that accepting that invitation could be too much to ask for. And something about her ambivalence about traveling with Humphrey. I gathered Humphrey was a pet. A pet cow.

Huh. A cow? As a pet? That was weird.

"Ah! I thee you found her letter."

I felt blurry, fuzzy, just deep into all this reading. Unnaturally muddled.

"The old witch would visit the Hollow routinely. Found all thorth of excutheth to thtay. One time to give bootieth to the Mimic, another time to rethycle metal in the old prithon block. Alwayth vithiting, alwayth hoping the marthter would notithe her."

I just nodded while fighting off the cog fog. "And did he notice her?"

The scarred servant looked pained. "Yeth. Thee wath a terrible dithtraction. I feared he'd thtop her from leaving, or worthe, go with her! Tho I hid that letter. He thinkth thee abandoned him. Got him good and angry. Focuthed. And he very nearly completed hith experiment latht night."

I was recovering. "And nearly imploded the world."

He shrugged. "There are rithkth to what he doeth." Then he added, "If it maketh you feel any better, you'd never know that it'd happened. One second ok, the next second gone."

Uh huh. Don't argue with the servant of a necromancer. Get what you came for and get out. "Do you have the reagents you went to get for me?"

"Don't you want to thtay and read some more? The Marthter wath looking forward to talking to you. I'm brewing up a lovely tea."

Politely decline! "Oh! No, thank you. I really need to get back. Um... how long have I been in here?"

"Oh... not long."

"Oh! Well... maybe I could..." Which is when I spotted MouseEye sitting on a shelf behind the scarred servant gesticulating, and loudly gesticulating, if gestures could make noise, that I should leave. "... just take the reagents from you, with gratitude, and then head back."

He paused for a second, then, "The Igor Code requireth that I uphold an untholithited offer. But pleathe promithe that you'll pay uth a vithit thome other day."

I said I would. MouseEye grimaced but that seemed to be the only way to get my reagents and leave without further incident.

As we made our way back, I asked MouseEye about his reaction. "It's ok. You promised to visit both Igor and the vampire. Which means it'll have to be at night. When the Count's awake. But we can prepare adequately and keep you safe."

"But I thought it'd be ok. The old witch..."

"The old witch may or may not have been... manipulated. but the fact that she left of her own accord means she either wasn't magicked, or she figured out a way out of it. Anyway, it'll be fine." The comforting part of his message was dispelled with his mumbled, "I hope."

Great. Well, time later to worry about that. I had a panicked patient, probably impatient, waiting.

To his credit, he was still waiting at the cottage. White knuckles gripped the table, feet tapped, knees bounced, white hair practically frizzled with electricity. If I didn't know better, it looked like he'd eaten a lot of laxative and was about to lose his battle with the call of nature. Actually... I didn't know better. So, I hoped I wouldn't be cleaning up more than sticky vomit prints.

It took no time at all to crush the skeleton bone into dust and sprinkle it onto the venom in the bottom of a cup. He drank it down willingly. Within a couple of minutes, the knuckles turned a calmer pink, the feet and knees stopped their incessant movement, his eyes lost their wildness, and his head began to slump onto his chest. And seconds later, he was snoring in my bed. *sigh* At least someone gets to grab some rest. I stepped outside and began my morning routine.

To be frank, I wasn't happy my bed was being used by anyone other than me. Never mind that others may have dozed on it while I was working, and that the old witch most certainly used it prior to my moving in, but still! And yet, to be fair, with what he'd been through, no doubt he was tired.

And then I realized he'll probably be ravenous when he wakes. So... time to prepare food for two. Which also means he spends more time here.

As I got back to work, I thought about my thoughts about this prolonged visit. And how much I didn't like it. The intrusion into my life here was something I simply disliked. But I'd manage today. Be polite, be professional, be sympathetic, be gently insistent that he leave.

I didn't get my chance to be all that for several hours. But he did finally emerge, looking much calmer and relaxed. And as predicted, he was hungry.

I thought it'd be a great opportunity to hear his story. Or at least the reasons behind his story. After all, I already knew where he'd been when things went bad. I wanted to know the why.

It took nothing to get him talking. I started to pry and he just opened up. "I don't believe I properly introduced myself last night. Cornelius McTwitter, physician to the town of High Rannoc. Pleased to make your acquaintance. My apologies for the state I was in last night. Completely unprofessional on my part. And to think it was all from my attempt to purchase a skeleton. Reanimated skeleton. No better kind to have in a medical office. I can have it point out to my patients the parts of the body affected when dealing with medical issues. By the way, I noticed you seem to be lacking a reanimated skeleton."

I agreed that I didn't possess one.

He nodded in acknowledgement. "In fact, I don't see that you have much of an establishment at all. No books, no laboratory equipment. How do you properly examine someone's urine without a laboratory?"

"I don't see the need. For instance, I cured you of your afflictions and didn't need to use any equipment."

"And you have no leeches. How can you balance humours without bleeding a patient?"

I just smiled and said, "Again, I cured you without them."

He looked indignant. "But certainly you just got lucky! Or I was already on the mend!"

I was getting testy. "You were on your way to becoming a zombie because you interrupted a necromancer in the middle of a magical spell and his Igor handed you a potion that was a poison that you drank." 

"Now really! That's too much. I mean, yes, I did go to see the gentleman and he did look busy, but how else do you arrange to purchase a reanimated skeleton. It's not like he consigns them through Bits & Bobs."

"That gentleman is a vampire."

"Oh, pish! Nonsense! Vampire, indeed!"

"That was vampire venom you just drank."

He scoffed. "Probably something completely innocuous, like a wildflower root. Witches have all sorts of scary-sounding names for not-scary things."

Right. I was done. "Well, I'm glad to see you have an appetite again. So if you don't mind, I do have things I need to tend to, like cleaning up little vomit-people footprints. And I'm sure your clinic needs its doctor back."

"Oh! Yes! Didn't realize it was getting on in the day. What do I owe you?"

Since these were more serious conditions, I increased my price. Thirty silver for each cure, sixty total. The lunch I threw in for free. The hours of scrubbing my cottage clean of the ravages of last night's chaos would help me release my rage at his ignorance. 

He didn't blink as he laid the money on the table. "Right! A very good day to you." And with that, he left. And I breathed a sigh of relief.

Spring, Week 3 - Bob's Cludgie Mouth

Here's a link to the video about how I put this episode together (and narrate it too):

 This is the life. When I think about how hard my father had to work - cutting down trees, processing them into transportable logs, and then getting them to the sawmill - so much time and effort for so little return, both in terms of money and respect. And yet here I am, comfortably set up in this lovely cottage, supported by people who, by the way things have gone so far, get warts on various pats of their bodies, and pay handsomely to have them removed.

I don't think my father, when he sent me off to school, would ever have expected me to find such an easy and lucrative place. And I didn't even have to attend that silly school.

It just can't get much better than this!

Although, now that I think on it, there's one thing that would improve the day - a small sampling of the honey I know is inside the bee hive. Which is why I walked over to the hive, all busy and buzzing with activity, with a small spoon, ready to taste that golden sweetness. My mind wandered to the contents of the hive, then to how my mouth would delight in the thick and rich flavour, the product of so much effort. And all mine.

The bees saw me coming and I think were prepping up a droplet or five - enough so I would know if it was sweet enough, rich enough, delicious enough. I couldn't wait!

But I would have to wait because something happened. I think the wind shifted. But it wasn't the wind itself that put a delay on my delight, but rather the smell on the wind was enough to cause anyone to pause. It smelled like a midden. But a midden that had clogged due to some large thing that had died and was slowly blocking the flow, meanwhile rotting slowly away. It... oh whatever it was, it was bad. So so bad. And not stopping.

MouseEye emerged from somewhere close and ran up my pants leg, then up my shirt sleeve, and up onto my shoulder. Before he spoke, I could feel the disapproval of my "wasting" a spot of honey for my personal gratification. "I assume your nose is working? Whoosh!"

I nodded. "Do you suppose the town will get that fixed soon? It's unbearable!"

"I don't know." 

At first I thought he was answering about the High Rannoc midden (maybe called Low Rannoc?) being fixed. But then when the wind shifted again but the smell didn't, I wondered if he was thinking it wasn't coming from the town at all.

"MouseEye, can you check to see if this stink is coming from the town?"

A pause, then, "Must I?"

I was just about to say yes when I spied someone approaching the cottage. "No, MouseEye. I think the source of the foul air has just arrived for help." I tucked my spoon into my pocket and headed back.

As I got closer, I saw it was none other than Bob. What in the world had he done to have this happen?

He saw me coming and, kind soul that he is, tested the wind to get himself downwind yet still within shouting distance. He looked abashed. "My apologies, Mistress. I'm afraid I've been cursed." He was half-gagging as he yelled that to me.

I asked MouseEye to spare Bob and I from shouting to each other. But, of course, MouseEye was nowhere to be found. Typical.

"What happened?"

As Bob answered, I swear the air around him turned an unhealthy shade of green. "Business deal went sour. A bog goblin swore he'd found something amazing and wanted me to buy it. Fentoad Scurf. The thing about it is that it goes bad really quickly. You need to harvest from living fentoads at your workbench. So what the goblin brought me was useless and not worth a thing. The goblin wasn't happy that I wouldn't buy so he cursed me."

Oh boy did he ever. At least the diagnosis was easy. The potion was going to be a bit trickier than what I'd made before - the curse wasn't difficult to deal with but the infection part was going to be a challenge. But no matter - I'd have Bob right as rain in no time. And I told him that.

"Gods I hope so. I know the reek isn't good where you are, but from where I'm sitting? It's wretched! And I've got to keep my shop closed until I can wait on customers again."

I gathered my things, bid him farewell (he insisted on staying in my cottage so's to not offend the townspeople with his breath. I wasn't happy that my cottage would probably forever smell of bog goblin, but I kept my mouth shut), and headed off. To Hero's Hollow.

So... not that I'm complaining, but Hero's Hollow isn't my favourite place. For one, it's hollow. For two, I'm no hero. However, needs be that I go there so needs be that I go there.

At the very least, I now know where the walk-in entrance is. The falling-in entrance is also known! (And very much not preferred).

My goal - my focus - was on the infection. After all that I'd collected ahead of time, I hadn't gotten an infection reagent yet (and I figured while I was out, I'd pick up a fresh curse reagent as well). And so I was on the lookout for Silverleaf. The difficulty with Silverleaf is that it's sharp, clings to the sides of caverns and tunnel walls, and only grows in the dark. It's easy to cut yourself if you aren't careful. However, it is easier if you have a mouse who loves to watch things. He spotted it without much difficulty.

And that's where things went from going well to absolute disaster. And in the end it was my fault but I was so absolutely certain I was right, I just wouldn't listen.

I'd gotten it into my head that I needed Liquid Fire. It's not easy to find and dangerous if you're not prepared - note the "Fire" part of all that - but I was convinced it needed to be mixed into the potion. MouseEye disagreed with me. And so we got into a bit of an argument. Yes, it's every bit as silly as it sounds - there I was, arguing with a mouse who claimed that, not only was I in the wrong, but arrogantly so (with obvious references to my near-wasting a dose of honey), in a dark tunnel not far from where I'd been accidentally temporarily imprisoned a couple of weeks prior.

I said a couple of very not nice things, including his disappearing when things got tough. Not only not nice - they were unfair. I know that now. Heck - I knew it then too, but I was so... full of myself. Frankly, I didn't recognize myself, looking back. Definitely not my finest moment.

And then it got worse. Oh so much worse. I said that maybe I should send him back to wherever familiars come from and get one that was truly useful. MouseEye, stunned, just murmured, "I suppose you should". And then disappeared. No flash, no sound. Just one second there and the next, not. Except for a single tear that glowed faintly blue in the dark and slowly faded away.

I... I was a mess. But a mess who choked back her tears and focused, once again, on gathering Liquid Fire. 

Note to self - don't try to gather Liquid Fire when you're a mess. You'll just make a mess of it.

I wandered around the tunnels, doing my best to find the blasted Fire. Nope, nope, and nope. I think I actually screamed in frustration.

Another note to self - when you scream in dark, creepy places, you may attract unwanted attention to yourself.

I got lucky - it wasn't unwanted attention. It was more... unhelpful. At first.

After I screamed, I stood stark still as it echoed along passages dark and grim. Yes - I said "dark and grim". I'm trying to be more poetic. I wasn't thinking "dark and grim" at the time. My thoughts were more like "stupid, stupid, stupid!". Especially when I heard footsteps. And they got closer. And closer still.

While it sounded like a small army coming at me, what I saw was a chest - a wooded chest - moving towards me. When it got close enough, I could see what must have been a hundred little legs underneath the "body". It was weird. It was strange. It was what an enthusiastic dog would be if it were a piece of furniture. An enthusiastic dog that really wanted a treat. It begged. It whined. It stood up on... more than two legs while all the rest waved ineffectually in the air. I... I had no idea what to do. And my super-able translator had just buggered off.

Drat.

I patted my pockets to show that I had nothing to offer. No treats to be had here. See? I'm patting my pockets and finding... something. What the...?

Why is there Smooth Croak in my pocket? Why is there...?

The walking box nuzzled my pocket. Yes - that one.

It? He? enjoyed the treat. I guess. And then it kind of crouched down, opened its lid, and let me peer in.

I tried to look without getting too close but it just wasn't possible to look effectively without sticking my head in. So... I looked.

Do you remember that I was feeling incredibly stupid? Yeah - looking back, this was another example. Yes, there was something in there. Yes, I was curious. Yes, I might've been swallowed and that would've been it.

It turns out, there was something the chest wanted but couldn't make happen on its own. There were little knitted socks in the chest. About one hundred of them. I know because I put booties onto each of the chest's feet. All of them. The end ones were ok, but the middle ones were harder. And most of the feet were in the middle.

Once I was done, it padded off. And I was running out of time. I knew Bob wouldn't wait forever.

As the chest padded off, I yelled out that I needed to find Liquid Fire. It stopped, managed to look over its shoulder, then... I guess beckoned is the best word... and off it led directly to Liquid Fire.

I was excited, tired, mourning MouseEye, definitely not at my best. I managed to nearly hurt myself repeatedly (my clothes are going to need extensive mending and my shoes are now more like open-toed sandals) but I finally managed to collect some. Finally! And as I mentally reviewed the benefits, I realized MouseEye had been absolutely right. I didn't need this. Hadn't needed it. Had just wasted time and energy gathering this.

I wanted to cry. So I did. The chest wandered off.

I sat, absorbed in misery. I needed Old Blood - really needed it. And had no idea how to... wait... that cell I'd fallen into. Wasn't there manacles on the wall? And where there's manacles, maybe there's struggle to escape. Maybe there was violence and spilled blood and maybe maybe maybe there's harvestable blood.

I set off at a run. Not so fast that I'd hurt myself if I banged into anything but fast enough that I could feel air streaming past my face.

I didn't make it to the cells. I didn't need to. On my way there I passed by where I'd found the Silverleaf. Had someone been extraordinarily unlucky with their harvest? Maybe sliced through an artery?

It wasn't as if I was hoping someone would hurt themselves! I was hoping someone had hurt themselves.

I found what I was looking for. Tucked away in a large crevice was the remains of someone. And there were blood scrapings aplenty.

I raced home, hoping I was in time, that Bob hadn't left yet.

He hadn't. But he wasn't happy at all that I'd taken as long as I had. I think. Actually, now that I'm going over what did happen, I think I was so embarrassed from the time I knew I'd wasted that I blew right by him (and, frankly, the smell encouraged my speeding by) so that I didn't take the time to let him know that everything was going to be ok. And soon.

As I was stoking the fire, I looked up to see Bob throw up his hands in frustration and start to leave! There was no way I was going to let him go after everything I'd been through! So I had to dash out and stop him. But first I had to catch my breath and that wasn't easy since in catching my breath I caught big draughts of his.

"Bob! Sir! Please - I've got everything I need to brew up the potion. I need just a bit more time to get things prepped and mixed. Please - don't go." I think I half-wailed.

He stood there for a minute, then, "I thought maybe things weren't going well. You weren't giving me the time of day. Anyway, I'll settle back into a chair and wait for your cure."

While there were bunches of things I wanted to say, I only got out, "Thank you!", before dashing back to the cottage. Ok - not quite true. I started to dash but then Bob yelled out, "I'm not going anywhere so just slow down and make the potion you know you can make. If you hurry, I could end up with no voice! Or the face of a chicken! Or I could be stuck with bog goblin breath for the rest of my days!"

I did end up dashing into the cottage, but before I set to (re-)starting my preparations again, I went to the little... house, I guess... on the mantlepiece, closed my eyes, and just forced myself to breathe. And I counted them. All ten.

Feeling much better from that pause (and better able to concentrate), I got back to my work. I got the fire stoked and began boiling the Old Blood (it reeked almost as bad as Bob's breath). While that was going, I crushed up the Silverleaf. As I worked it into a powder, my mind drifted back to Hero's Hollow, the endless dark of the dungeon, and MouseEye.

That I found MouseEye frustratingly... obstinate? secretive? puzzling? How...?

The Silverleaf was approaching dust levels. Crushed far more than I'd intended.

Before the potion could be completed, I had one last ingredient to grab - honey - to counteract the bit of poison in the Old Blood would introduce.

The spoon was still in my pocket. I pulled it out as I headed for the hive. The buzzing swelled as I approached. I hadn't figured out how to retrieve the honey. Something else needing solving. *sigh* But this time I was going to do things properly. I stood in front of the hive and asked for a dose of honey. And held out the spoon in case they didn't understand me.

Several bees began to fly circles around the base of the hive. I held my spoon under where they were flying. A small drizzle of honey dripped into my spoon. Holding it carefully, I thanked the bees, then headed back.

The last step was combining all the ingredients together. A bit of mixing over low heat (so the honey would melt throughout) and it was done. I walked it out to Bob.

He accepted it and drank it down. And in minutes his breath was as fresh as honey can make it.

And then, instead of reaching into his pocket or otherwise making haste back to High Rannoc, he just set the cup down, looked thoughtful for a minute, then began to speak. "You, little miss, and begging your pardon I mean no offence, are young. You have a gift, no doubt, an ability to heal the body. But dealing with people is more than the physical - it's about compassion. When you came to my shop that first time, I served you and your desires to view my stock for a fair bit of time. I never once complained about what I knew was going to be my very cold lunch, or my aching feet. It's something I learned when I sat with my grandfather as he ran the shop and when I clerked in the back for my father. It's something for you to learn now. It's more important, in many ways, to let people know what's going on, keep up their spirits, that sort of thing.

"Maybe you need a hobby that will help you be more peaceful. I know the old witch got into knitting baby booties. Really got into it. Bought way more yarn than ever she made into the town's babies! I know that. Maybe you should try your hand at something like that.

"I do see that you're far more calm now than you were when you first got back from your foraging hunt. Think on what I said. It's a manner that's served my family for generations and I hope will serve you well as well.

"And now I should pay you, get out of your hair, and get my shop aired out for opening tomorrow."

The twenty silver clinked into my hand but it felt like his words were worth far more.

He waved as he stepped out of view. And I... I wandered back to the cottage. And to the spirit house on the mantlepiece. The house's house. It still wasn't much more than a small bowl of water, a candle, the Star Shard, and a few wildflower blossoms, but it represented more than what the parts were.

Not a great explanation, but it's the best I can manage right now. It certainly wasn't perfect. It just wasn't... perfect. And I certainly wasn't perfect. Oh no! Not perfect at all. But I was doing the best I could. Not perfect but doing my best. That's me.

And this place. Not perfect but doing its best.

And the bees. Not perfect but doing their best.

And... MouseEye. Not perfect but doing his best.

And... I wasn't allowing him to be imperfect. His imperfect. Maybe it's frustrating to me that his imperfections are so frustratingly frustrating to me, but...

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I behaved. I didn't treat Bob well, didn't treat myself well, and didn't treat MouseEye well. I said it to myself, to the house, to the house's house, and to MouseEye wherever he was.

And then I chuckled to myself. Wherever he is? I can probably guess. I looked up at the mantlepiece again. Water, candle, Star Shard, two eyes amongst a few wildflower blossoms. 

I reached over to where his little mouse head should be and gave it some gentle pets. "You know, MouseEye, I've spent my last two weeks wandering around, going to town, exploring here and there. But I haven't spent any time at all talking with you, sharing thoughts and ideas. So, if it's ok with you, I'd like to stay here, walk the property a bit, but most of all get to know you better. What do you think about that?"

With a mischievous grin, all he said was, "Must I?"