Soil. It's been three winters since last I let the soil of my home trickle through my fingers. I know nearly everything there is to know about soil. By feel alone I know the quality of sand, silt and clay. I know when it is right to plant the seed, and I know when it is at times folly. Such is the wisdom of a ploughman.

Gyth got a snore like a fly .. buzz, buzz, buzz. Only Gyth could make a snore sound like yer wanted to dance. I know where she'll be off come mornin', so I'm gettin' there first.

The great power of the world rises steadily. Even fickle fate must bow to the inevitable lord, as a whore to the whim of her master. My little linnet brings me a map, found by one of her swains in the old north lands. How childlike these grown men and women of the horselands are, for all their fair flaxen stature, unable to read or form any letters. It is quite charming.