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--- ljwrites:ttrpg:solo:village_witch:witch1 [2024/07/29 12:47] – Fixed season name, added Growing Season ljwrites
+++ ljwrites:ttrpg:solo:village_witch:witch1 [2024/09/14 23:27] (current) – Scene 1 of Harvest ljwrites
@@ Line 131: / Line 131: @@
 When Ajoke's brother-in-law Harun rows me to the next port over we speak very little.
 Before I step off he hands me a sprig of one of the waterberry sprouts the village planted in the wastelands, the light reflecting off the purple-red leaves, a promise of tomorrows that lie beyond the sight and knowing of those who planted the beginnings.
+### Harvest season
+#### Preparation
+I get curious glances as I walk down the road into the port and fishing town, but when I squat down at the edge of the market with herbs and seeds laid out the folk understand what I'm about.
+A woman comes by on an ox-drawn cart with servants keeping pace on foot, and requests a cure for dry cough.
+This seems to be who I need to impress to have a stall here, and when I steep a brew for her she takes a sniff and invites me to her home.
+She turns out to be the senior wife of a local chief and the meal is good with harvests of fruit and grain, along with the season's migration of fish coming in.
+When the chief's wife offers me a room to stay I don't refuse.
+It gives me protection and would give her a measure of prestige as well to be hosting a wisewoman.
+The waterberry sprig I was gifted from the swamps has its place next to the other fetishes and offerings on my altar of carven wood.
+Some of the glances on me lingered beyond just curiosity; perhaps I will hear more about my mother here.
+#### Scene: The Festival of Ships
+  * Ten of cups: It's a holiday. What sort?
+The ships come in, sails swollen and oars creaking as they glide into the sheltered bay, the songs of the sailors and the songs from the shore melting into one as the distance closes and the ships bump to a stop.
+The goods are a procession from the docks to the market borne on baskets and carts and the backs of draft animals through the streets with dancing and singing on either side, grains and cattle and bolts of cloth and spices and more from far away, the air charged with the joy and anticipation of plenty, of good times to come.
+I have much to trade at the market, my good luck charms and poultices particularly popular with seafaring men. I end up with cloth in lovely blue and yellow for a new dress, exchanged seeds, savory leaves to cook with, and more.
+The dancing goes on late into the night and a woman who came in with the ships meets my eye.
+Her smooth head has a proud perch on top of a long neck, and her smile is knowing.
+We float closer to each other in the dances until we dance face to face, drinking each other in, the smell of faraway waters strong on her.
+Leaving the dance hand-in-hand feels natural, as does kissing behind the bushes on the way to my home.
+There is a little chill in the air but I do not light the fire, we do not need it, oh, when we burn so.
+Before dawn she leaves with a lingering kiss, leaving a scent and a few petals from her garland on the pillow.
+I stay longer in bed than is my wont, drifting between sleeping and waking, lost in a sweet little dream and not wanting to find myself, not yet.