They talked long into the stormy winter nights. That spring, Arden
traveled everywhere across Westerland, and when it was safe, crossed the
borders to the farming and woodland communities of neighboring kingdoms,
seeking the old stories and half-forgotten and only rumored bits of the most
ancient magic. She visited huts and cottages where the hedgelores were kept by
word of mouth and herb mistresses stored their memories in tiny living trees. She
spent days digging through ancient libraries full of dusty scrolls and newly
printed books, looking for stories and theories. Glynna had never encountered
another green magic-wielder during her decades traveling the continent, and
Arden didn’t dare cross the sea to another continent to seek out another
plantwise with more knowledge and experience than Glynna. Until Yeshen heard
their prayers and sent the Steward to talk with them, they could only work
based on speculations.
Spring turned to summer and Arden was busy with her usual duties
during the growing season. She sometimes wept in gratitude that she wasn’t so
distracted with her new quest that she shorted Westerland. The harvest was
doubly bountiful that year, and all her travels served to spread the blessing
of her magic, even into neighboring kingdoms. Glynna just chuckled when they
received news of that and reminded Arden that magic and Giftings needed to be
shared, and grew more powerful with the sharing.
Still, despite the bounty she had brought to Westerland, Arden
was relieved to settle down after the harvest. She talked to herb wives and
lore masters and ancient grannies and gaffers sitting at the fires as winter
howled around them and tried to reach down the chimneys.
When spring came again, so did the Steward.
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