stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
Rory had inherited his dreamer's side from his mother, but it was Amalia's faith that had him going to the Glade that year. While the leatherworker normally participated in the building of the perch, he hadn't left offerings in the Glade for.. years and years. Somewhere, between the lack of results and his increasing workload at the homestead, he'd just run out of time to trek to the Glade and deposit some snack for a mythical bird that might as well prefer raw hearts over fruit and precious seed.
His concerns were usually of the more immediate variety: charming Luxere, making sure their stock of smoked meat hadn't gone bad, securing fuel, making his Deepfrost deliveries and picking up new orders, many of which had to be finished before the Long Night began. If the Longheat and Leafchange seasons had been bad and feed was low, and Deepfrost looked to be especially harsh, he had to reduce the size of the goat crew, which meant additional work with butchering, shearing, and smoking the meat, and sorting out the hides before taking them to the tanner.
In between all of these things, the simple act of going to the Glade with a handful of carrots or some ground oats seemed like too difficult a task. He frequently went to the Settlement on errands, so spending half a day here and there helping with the perch felt like less of a big deal.
But Amalia's piety—while not a new thing—had inspired him to resume this old tradition. If her faith in the Old Gods was still strong.. well. Rory would much like to see the Spark Bird, and its light, while likely not reaching all the way to his homestead, would be a welcome blessing during the Long Night, or just the darkest hours, even if they were not filled with monsters.
Rory had a handful of winter apples left. Usually, they were saved for other things, barely even treats for the horses, but apple cakes, enjoyed hot and warm from the oven with a cup of tea and good company.
He'd thought about it long and hard, and finally decided to split the stash of precious apples. He'd put aside three, formulating a plan to see if he could bake one cake at least, maybe with Amalia, perhaps invite some friends and just have a nice afternoon at the bakery. (Did foxes like apple cake?) That left four, which he'd scooped into the all-purpose pockets of his greatcoat.
And that was how he found himself in the Glade, where a few scorch marks on the trees indicated the great mythical bird did exist. Some other offerings were strewn about; fruits of varying quality, other vegetables, seeds and cereal. Rory looked at the offerings, then added his four apples—and some chunks of almost-tale rye bread he found in another pocket—to the scene.
[ ForBastien! ]
His concerns were usually of the more immediate variety: charming Luxere, making sure their stock of smoked meat hadn't gone bad, securing fuel, making his Deepfrost deliveries and picking up new orders, many of which had to be finished before the Long Night began. If the Longheat and Leafchange seasons had been bad and feed was low, and Deepfrost looked to be especially harsh, he had to reduce the size of the goat crew, which meant additional work with butchering, shearing, and smoking the meat, and sorting out the hides before taking them to the tanner.
In between all of these things, the simple act of going to the Glade with a handful of carrots or some ground oats seemed like too difficult a task. He frequently went to the Settlement on errands, so spending half a day here and there helping with the perch felt like less of a big deal.
But Amalia's piety—while not a new thing—had inspired him to resume this old tradition. If her faith in the Old Gods was still strong.. well. Rory would much like to see the Spark Bird, and its light, while likely not reaching all the way to his homestead, would be a welcome blessing during the Long Night, or just the darkest hours, even if they were not filled with monsters.
Rory had a handful of winter apples left. Usually, they were saved for other things, barely even treats for the horses, but apple cakes, enjoyed hot and warm from the oven with a cup of tea and good company.
He'd thought about it long and hard, and finally decided to split the stash of precious apples. He'd put aside three, formulating a plan to see if he could bake one cake at least, maybe with Amalia, perhaps invite some friends and just have a nice afternoon at the bakery. (Did foxes like apple cake?) That left four, which he'd scooped into the all-purpose pockets of his greatcoat.
And that was how he found himself in the Glade, where a few scorch marks on the trees indicated the great mythical bird did exist. Some other offerings were strewn about; fruits of varying quality, other vegetables, seeds and cereal. Rory looked at the offerings, then added his four apples—and some chunks of almost-tale rye bread he found in another pocket—to the scene.
[ For
