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Spring was, as always, a relief. Despite the bandits that had grown bold of late [[Gamond]] rode alone past the ruins of [[hillfort]], past the outskirts of [[Ansty]] manor and north into the [[forest]] trench. The bandits wisely didn’t venture too close to the manors themselves. “The [[forest]] trench” was a locally adopted nickname for the stretch of fields that cut the outskirts of [[Modron]] in two, a more or less straight line running from southeast of [[Tisbury]] manor to north of [[Ansty]]. No-one quite knew why it was that way, and as [[Gamond]] slowly rode through he idly watched the landscape. High grass, flowers, butterflies and birds. But not a single tree to be seen. Some said a towering giant of old had dragged a huge stone through here in the ancient past and no tree had grown here since. [[Gamond]] imagined [[Cadry]] dragging that holy pagan stone of his to [[Tisbury]] and wondered whether his path there was now clear of trees as well. It would be handy if it was, easier to get to his manor if nothing else. Steering Littlehoof, his dainty rouncey, westwards he followed his customary path into [[Modron]]. Since he was a child he’d carried a deep and unreasonable fear of the deeper [[forest]], fortunately, over the years he had found his own paths through the outskirts, and now he could navigate most of them in his sleep. This particular path was probably the most familiar, leading to his favourite swimming spot in the Nadar, directly south of [[Tisbury]]. Having left littlehoof tied to a tree with plenty of grazing and his clothes folded on a flat stone near the riverbank, [[Gamond]] floated on his back in the middle of the river. The current was gentle here, he could close his eyes and relax, let his thoughts wander. Whenever he needed to think, this was where he went. He wasn’t stupid, not really, though some probably thought so. He just hadn’t a lot to say most of the time. Others tended to let their mouths run, and most things that were to be said on a subject had been by the time he’d thought everything through carefully. Meneris’ dowry had been sizable, and many had now counselled investment. What exactly that investment should be was a matter of some debate however. He turned around and swam slowly upriver, his body working on habit, his mind free to work on the problems before him. Anwyn, whose counsel he probably valued most, hadn’t really cared what he did, except maybe to build his defences. His cousin, the meat trader, had sworn up and down that cattle was the soundest investment. Milk, hides and meat, he had said, all things that would always be needed. The problem being that [[Gamond]] didn’t really like cows. Perhaps that aversion had something to do with the curse that now haunted him, meat just wasn’t that appealing anymore. Feeling his thoughts turn to brooding he dove down into the depths. Down there, gleaming fish scattered on the muddy bottom, a frog, none too concerned, swam lazily past. Exhaling air he settled on river floor, watching the surface far above him. As he broke the surface with a huge gasp, spraying water all around and splashing, his thoughts were again focused. His tutor, Wert, had predictably counselled gifts to the church. Apparently, that could help with the curse. Lord Medyr, of [[Charlton]] manor to the south, had waxed lyrical over his Mellisarium. A fancy word for what was apparently lots of bees. He’d talked at length about the various fantastical qualities of honey, the beneficial effect bees had on flowers, and had entirely failed to mention the numerous bee-stings sported by his villagers and himself. [[Gamond]] didn’t trust bees. As he often did he’d taken the counsel of his commoners as well, and they had huddled in with their elders and at length asked for more fields to till, or sheep to graze. Sheep could always be trusted. As he arrived home late in the late afternoon he was no closer to a decision. He itched to be doing something. Maybe he should set a tankard for each of the alternatives at 35 paces and throw stones at them in turn until one was left? Well, his peasants wouldn’t be idle anyway, he had decided one thing. He’d start clearing that old grove in the [[forest]] where he’d first met Anwyn. His mother had gone all doe eyed when he’d told her about that meeting and absolutely insisted he make the grove “nice” again. The following day the Bailiff led a work crew into [[Modron]], and [[Gamond]] went with them. As they broke the cover of trees and surveyed the small clearing around the grove a reverent hush fell over the company. The grove was awash in pinks and pale reds, showing through the choking weeds and tanglebranch that had utterly dominated this place only two years past. The trees seemed most lively where Anwyn had sat, and bled, and around the path where he had carried her. Stepping into the grove, he took several soft red berries from the branches, tasting one. Sweet with a tart tang to the aftertaste. Struck by sudden inspiration, [[Gamond]] turned to [[Bodwyn]]. “Those bright red berries, gather them. We’ll bring earth from this clearing to plant them in, give them a home outside of home. We shall make an orchard wholly of the Anarawd”.
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