18 lines
1.4 KiB
Plaintext
18 lines
1.4 KiB
Plaintext
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## Prelude
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Your family has lived secluded on the edge of the forest for as long as anyone can remember, which isn't that long in the grand scheme of things. Definitely since before there was a trade route down by the road. And since before there was a village over in the vale.
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The villagers down in the vale refer to this forest by your family name, as though you own it. Such a funny thought. You can't own the forest. It's just *the forest*.
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The forest has provided you with food and shelter and well-being. When new growth creeps out into your little meadow, you cut it back, selling the leftover timber to the traders. There is small game to hunt. Sometimes the bush brats steal whatever your thoughtlessly happen to leave outdoors over night, sometimes they leave little trinkets, stones, or other small forest treasures on your window sills, all depending on their mood.
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But the forest has been sullen lately. Withdrawn. There just hasn't been any new growth. The bush brats don't venture into the meadow any more either.
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And now it is late autumn. The grass is long and golden, and the leaves are crimson. Before long, you'll have to think about cutting into some of the old growth so you have enough firewood to last the winter.
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In the meantime, your uncle has given you some blankets to deliver to __witch deep in the *coniferous forest* to keep her warm when winter comes.
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Off you go now.
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