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Saure dropped the tray on a grow-bench angrily, still fuming. She fancied Feroy- if only a little- and it bothered her that he had to be so infantile sometimes. She resigned herself again to life as a spinster, dusted the soil off her hands, and squished her way in soggy boots to the empty farmhouse.

Folken in the lands west of Nora are prone to making their houses from stone and end-clay. End-clay is a mixture of gray river clay and essence of ironmoss. It's a powerful mortar, and it keeps the heat in or out depending on what the season calls for. Unfortunately, on rainy days in midsummer, it made the house colder than a hag's heart. Saure shivered, breathing on her clasped hands before closing the door behind her.

It struck her suddenly, in the overcast dim of the empty, chill house… that she was truly alone. She had never been left to her own devices in the farmhouse like this before; she had led a very sheltered life.

She guessed, but did not truly grasp how valuable she was to her parents- not just as their only child, but also as a lucrative commodity. Her gift of the green hand saved them a fortune on seeds (as the fruits of her labor were almost seven times the potency of normal plants, and twice the size). She also had an agile mind, and stored valuable information like none they had ever known. She had a library in her head, and they couldn't understand how they two could have produced such a child genius as this. However, as kindhearted and loving as they were, they didn't really know how to appreciate their wonderful child. They took her for granted because they believed they owned her. She was, after all, only fifteen. She wouldn't have the choice of leaving the kirn till her springs numbered nineteen.
So, they had left her. Alone.
She had only her books to console her. Not even the animals she had been graced with the ability to talk to would befriend her.
And the dapple nag out in the stable shed wasn't much for talking.

 

Page 7

So, Saure climbed the splintery ladder to her sweet-smelling loft, and pulled up a stool. She stepped up onto it, popped up on bare tiptoe, and gazed upon her rafter library. She had salvaged (and made quite a few) crude boards to span the rafters, creating several shelves on which she kept her favorite earthly treasures. A piece of stone that was split to reveal beautiful green crystals, several of her favorite dried herbs, an old stuffed toy that now only vaguely resembled a cat, and twenty-three tomes of an odd variety of subjects.

She had snatched up every book she had the chance to over the course of twelve springs. She had bartered and begged and- on occasion- even stole to achieve this growing collection. She wasn't entirely proud of the odd thievery, but in the end she believed it was worth it. This was her life's joy.

She loved the smell of books, especially old ones, and she loved the feel of smooth parchment beneath her fingers. She loved the creak of old binding. She even loved the tiny book beetles that made their home in the creases between book leaves. These tomes were her dearest and only friends, and she was fine with that. They took her away with them. Whether it be a captivating adventure story, or simply a volume on the anatomy of elves and their ilk, she loved to glean. She had taught herself two languages just by reading and comparing scrawled characters. She knew and understood the politics of fairies. She could name any insect, and describe its lifestyle. She knew from books how to sew and cook and mend stone, how to carve and how to polish. She knew seven different ways to tell time without a sundial, day or night. She knew how to craft complex, time-consuming and difficult potions her parents had never dreamed of making. And she kept all of this knowledge to herself, as her secret companion.

Her favorite books of all, though, were the tales of heroes in lands far from her little kirn. She daydreamed quite often about sorcerers and witches, elves and fairies in their deep, enchanted forests and caves. She daydreamed about dashing young warriors slaying great and terrible monsters with legendary weapons. She would often play out her fantasies