Kip
It was an unusually bright day in the Barrows, especially for it being only Flowerbirth, giving a small reprieve from the nippy air. Snow clung to the highest areas of the Barrow hills as if trying its hardest not to melt—yet no one could stop the inevitable, leaving the lower lands cold, wet, and hazardous to those not sure-footed.
Among the Barrows roamed a familiar face, a caretaker, Kip, a quiet man who tried his best to complete his work unbothered. Colder seasons, or thawing seasons such as Flowerbirth, meant the foot traffic was light, which meant Kip was usually in an optimistic mood.
Adding to his contentment, his rounds had so far not alerted him to any dangers or spirits running amok—everything was peaceful, like even the dead decided to slumber away until a warmer time.
Within the finite moments of calm, Kip stole away time for himself, searching for a place to sit to have his fifth snack of the day so far. A man of his size needed snacks! Or so he told others when questioned about his ferocious appetite.
He was gentle with his actions, as if every move needed to be mindful of the spirits and shrines resting nearby, cautious to lay his walking stick beside him with care—he loved his walking stick; whittled from a fallen branch and carved with detail. He began to unbind a bundle from the top of the stick, a makeshift sack for all of his snacking and walking needs. Scattered in the weathered bundle, Kip produced a semi-smashed half-loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, and a type of dried, peppered meat whose origin he was unsure of.
Certainly, he could store these items in a normal bag, but the large man found it easier to carry the bundle to keep edible items at the ready.
Head and body cloaked in an earthen green cloak, it was difficult to see when a pairing knife was produced, carving away at the block of cheese and happily devouring the pieces.
This was his happy place—his place for cheese-fed respite.
Among the Barrows roamed a familiar face, a caretaker, Kip, a quiet man who tried his best to complete his work unbothered. Colder seasons, or thawing seasons such as Flowerbirth, meant the foot traffic was light, which meant Kip was usually in an optimistic mood.
Adding to his contentment, his rounds had so far not alerted him to any dangers or spirits running amok—everything was peaceful, like even the dead decided to slumber away until a warmer time.
Within the finite moments of calm, Kip stole away time for himself, searching for a place to sit to have his fifth snack of the day so far. A man of his size needed snacks! Or so he told others when questioned about his ferocious appetite.
He was gentle with his actions, as if every move needed to be mindful of the spirits and shrines resting nearby, cautious to lay his walking stick beside him with care—he loved his walking stick; whittled from a fallen branch and carved with detail. He began to unbind a bundle from the top of the stick, a makeshift sack for all of his snacking and walking needs. Scattered in the weathered bundle, Kip produced a semi-smashed half-loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, and a type of dried, peppered meat whose origin he was unsure of.
Certainly, he could store these items in a normal bag, but the large man found it easier to carry the bundle to keep edible items at the ready.
Head and body cloaked in an earthen green cloak, it was difficult to see when a pairing knife was produced, carving away at the block of cheese and happily devouring the pieces.
This was his happy place—his place for cheese-fed respite.
