Penned in precise and evenly lined sentences, a blank page near the middle of a slightly scuffed, top-grain leather journal is newly inscribed. If one were to flip past the filled pages to the very beginning, one would find the first page titled with: Bernie Tweed, Bree-land followed by a series of odd symbols.
28 Thrimidge
Home, Bree-land
√ Finally got round to checking out my water well. Found nothing down it save for an old mouldy boot. Bully for me that Miss Kitowyn had no designs on wishing for things. Or maybe she just had no coins.
→ Need to clean up hive number four on the morrow. Seems that one’s been working doubletime to make up for the enthusiastic care what Miss Kitowyn gave it when I were gone, combs starting to form again on the entrance reducer which is no good at all.
• Water bee-garden, rain’s been spare and it looks bit dry.
≡ Met up with Miss Bryndis this evening for that ale I promised up at The Mad Boar Inn. Place were real quiet as business been slow round here this time of year when the weather’s fairer and the sun’s still warm. But were nice to be able to talk freely without having to speak over clamour I spose, and talk we did bout lots of things from her family home to what she does for pocket coin to my fishing.
And she sure can hold her drink, that one. Challenged her to a drinking game to see who can bottoms up first and she just nearly got me. Never seen a gal give me a real run for it, usually they tend to be shy and demure with their sippy drinks, so that I found impressive indeed. Didn’t think she were the type to enjoy the burn of the cheap stuff since she charges so much for her healing services, so’s we enjoyed top shelf brews without the games after that.
Talk turned to the wars again, which I care nothing to discuss really. Seems everyone from elsewhere got to talk bout this war and go round wanting us plain folk to upend things in fear of it. My bees don't care bout no wars and far way places with strange names don't get the day's work done.
Still, that whole mess is what brought her up this way, so she talked bout offering her care to the folks round here til she moves along again. And then I informed her of what I thought bout her knot-work; namely that it looked like it were done by a blind granny with achy fingers. She tried to claim it were on account of yours truly flailing about wildly while she did it, which of course were not true in the least.
Now she been making her intents for me real plain this whole time but still wanted to play round with waiting and baiting, so I walked her to the gates of town after I settled up the tab at the bar. Did not even give me a good night kiss, just left me with another teasing flirt before leaving. Don’t care for games like that but got me out of this lonely house leastways so guess there’s that.
Got home and settled in, feeding the tiny nipper as he looked hungry. Then sat at my desk a time looking over papers til Mrs. Indoril showed up in my mind. Looked over to the chair she sat in when she were over for dinner that one eve and tried to picture the way she sat then. Too fine a thing for this house in truth. Like a jewel in the mud.
