3 Saun 722
Wealth Skill: Fieldcraft
There was green growing in the Stormwastes for the first time that he could remember, and just on the edge of his vision, within easy striking distance, there was a glint of open water - a pool or a lake of some sort. Dan stood and stared at it for what felt like a very long time, and then turned quietly away to find the plants he knew he would need. The first rumours about taking back the Stormwastes had come to his attention over an arc ago, and he had had plenty of time to think and to plan, and to decide. Now, it seemed, it was time to act.
When he returned several breaks later, he was riding Cloud, a handful of bags secured to the back of his saddle, and his bow strung and ready to take down anything that threatened him. His spear was also close at hand, and he moved quietly and discreetly across the unspoken border between Stormland and Stormwaste, heading for the water he had seen. He found it in a hollow where something had clearly caved in under the ground. The water hadn't yet filled it, but if it kept raining like this, it might in the future. There were no tracks near it except for his own, and he stopped there, and dismounted.
As far as he could tell, the water was clean and safe to drink. It looked clean, certainly, and smelt clean. When he dipped a cautiousfinger into it, there was no burning sensation, nor was there a soapy feel when he rubbed damp finger and thumb together, which would have indicated that there was ash-turning-into-lye in it. Cloud whiffled her nose at the water and looked interested enough to drink, which was also a good sign. He had long ago learned to trust his animals' instincts.
He had brought three bags of seeds, and some sticks. One bag was cattail seeds, which he dumped into one end of the potential lake. Cattail grew easily, all the parts of it were useful and edible, and the seeds traveled on the wind, for plausible deniability.
The sticks were willow, which was notorious for regrowing from any scrap. You could take a piece of willow, strip off all the buds, let it dry out completely - and the moment it got back to some available ground, that dried up old stick would start putting out roots and shoots, and turn itself into not so much a new leaf as a whole new tree. He shoved the sticks into the mud at the edge of the hollow, spacing them out like a poor attempt at a hedge or a fence.
The second bag held only grass seed, and he scattered it by casual, untidy handfuls. It wasn't the neat or even toss of a farmer, but he'd scattered grass seed for the birds on particularly warm and plentiful days, so he tossed it the same way now.
The third bag was filled with the kind of seeds that the wind could plausibly carry, but collected with a touch of thought for what was needed to make this a living landscape rather than a dead one.
There was rosebay willowherb, tall and pink-flowered and elegant, that loved rough, poor, damaged ground and then took that ground to the point that other plants could more easily take root and thrive. If you dried the leaves, they made a decent morning tea - bitter, but it woke you up and got you started for the day. You could eat the roots of rosebay willowherb too if you had to, it was safe enough, but nobody except the desperate would want to. They tasted horribly, horribly, bitter, far worse than the tea made from its leaves, unless you put the roots through a bunch of painstaking, time-dragging preperations.
There were thistles, the sort whose roots and young stems you could eat, tall and prickly and tough, with beautiful blue flowers. There were his own namesake dandelions for root and leaf and yellow flower, strong and stubborn and hard to get rid of, the insects' delight, and the grazing rodent's joy.
Weeds, all of them, but weeds that would open the way for other things to grow later. He grinned, and tossed the seeds into the breeze to go where they would, grow where they would, free as the air that carried them.
If they grew here and thrived, that would open up the doors to so much more growing here. They would improve and break up the ground and leave it better for whoever and whatever came here after him. The knights might not approve so much, since these were technically weeds rather than anything 'useful', but the knights hadn't, to his (admittedly limited) knowledge, done anything more for the Stormwastes than idle talk in over an arc. He'd kept his ear to the ground for the settlements that were supposedly starting out here, but there had been none but Eureka. If there had been, he'd have done much the same for them as he had for Eureka itself. Besides, he would take almost any bet that the knights wouldn't think any further than farm crops and farm animals. If you wanted a place to truly come alive, however, you needed plants for the wild animals and the birds and the insects to feed on, in order for them to feed each other in the ever interconnected web that was the wild. If you wanted fish in your lake or rivers, then the fish needed plants or insects or both to feed it and shade it, shelter it and nurture it. And the insects it fed on needed food of their own, and any fish that died would, in turn, feed and nourish the plants. On top of that, if he was going to extend his living range in that direction, then he also needed food he could gather. He was, or at least tried to be, part of that interconnection, taking only what he needed, and giving back enough that the land would thrive rather than suffer in his wake.
If they didn't grow here, then all that was lost was a bit of his time, and he had enough spare for this. The Stormwastes had been a scar on nature longer than he'd been alive. If he could help them heal - if he could take this land and bring it alive again - it was all worth it. He couldn't, he'd accepted, heal the whole thing on his own. It was too big and too damaged for that. All he could do was try. Bring seeds out here, and offer them to the wind and the dirt and the water and hope that they stuck. It was a drop in the ocean. It would, in practice, take something the size of Eureka - several somethings the size of Eureka - to make a real dent in the reclaiming.
Maybe, whoever the knights got to run their settlement, assuming they actually started one at this point, would listen to him, let him hang around and put in some work, the way that Faith did for Eureka. He sighed, swung up into Cloud's saddle, and turned her for home, letting all his vigilence stretch out in case of danger.
Later, when he was back in his camp, and nursing of a mug of mint tea over the remains of his evening meal, he found his mind drifting back to all the things he could do, all the ways he could help such a damaged land heal - if whoever was running the settlements allowed him to. Plants that gave more back to the land than they took out. Perenials that were stubborn enough and quick growing enough (and useful enough) to turn the land green again, possibly even as green as the rest of the Stormlands. And then all the ways that he could sneak past unhelpful settlements to help nature, to help the land, (like today's planting) if they didn't give him actual permission. At which point he had to give up pretending that this was just a daydream, and admit that he was probably going to be stuck with actually doing it, come what may. The problem with being a part of nature, like he was, was that nature had a mind of its own and sometimes demanded things of you in return.
He sighed. Demands or no demands, there were things he needed to do. Like dealing with the aftermath of a meal. He drained the last of his tea, gathered up the bowl that had held his fish stew, and went to wash the dishes.
It wasn't until he was bedding down for the night that his mind hit him with one last zinger. What if the person in charge of the settlement wasn't a knight? What if - it was him?
"Signed words" Spoken words
Wealth Skill: Fieldcraft
There was green growing in the Stormwastes for the first time that he could remember, and just on the edge of his vision, within easy striking distance, there was a glint of open water - a pool or a lake of some sort. Dan stood and stared at it for what felt like a very long time, and then turned quietly away to find the plants he knew he would need. The first rumours about taking back the Stormwastes had come to his attention over an arc ago, and he had had plenty of time to think and to plan, and to decide. Now, it seemed, it was time to act.
When he returned several breaks later, he was riding Cloud, a handful of bags secured to the back of his saddle, and his bow strung and ready to take down anything that threatened him. His spear was also close at hand, and he moved quietly and discreetly across the unspoken border between Stormland and Stormwaste, heading for the water he had seen. He found it in a hollow where something had clearly caved in under the ground. The water hadn't yet filled it, but if it kept raining like this, it might in the future. There were no tracks near it except for his own, and he stopped there, and dismounted.
As far as he could tell, the water was clean and safe to drink. It looked clean, certainly, and smelt clean. When he dipped a cautiousfinger into it, there was no burning sensation, nor was there a soapy feel when he rubbed damp finger and thumb together, which would have indicated that there was ash-turning-into-lye in it. Cloud whiffled her nose at the water and looked interested enough to drink, which was also a good sign. He had long ago learned to trust his animals' instincts.
He had brought three bags of seeds, and some sticks. One bag was cattail seeds, which he dumped into one end of the potential lake. Cattail grew easily, all the parts of it were useful and edible, and the seeds traveled on the wind, for plausible deniability.
The sticks were willow, which was notorious for regrowing from any scrap. You could take a piece of willow, strip off all the buds, let it dry out completely - and the moment it got back to some available ground, that dried up old stick would start putting out roots and shoots, and turn itself into not so much a new leaf as a whole new tree. He shoved the sticks into the mud at the edge of the hollow, spacing them out like a poor attempt at a hedge or a fence.
The second bag held only grass seed, and he scattered it by casual, untidy handfuls. It wasn't the neat or even toss of a farmer, but he'd scattered grass seed for the birds on particularly warm and plentiful days, so he tossed it the same way now.
The third bag was filled with the kind of seeds that the wind could plausibly carry, but collected with a touch of thought for what was needed to make this a living landscape rather than a dead one.
There was rosebay willowherb, tall and pink-flowered and elegant, that loved rough, poor, damaged ground and then took that ground to the point that other plants could more easily take root and thrive. If you dried the leaves, they made a decent morning tea - bitter, but it woke you up and got you started for the day. You could eat the roots of rosebay willowherb too if you had to, it was safe enough, but nobody except the desperate would want to. They tasted horribly, horribly, bitter, far worse than the tea made from its leaves, unless you put the roots through a bunch of painstaking, time-dragging preperations.
There were thistles, the sort whose roots and young stems you could eat, tall and prickly and tough, with beautiful blue flowers. There were his own namesake dandelions for root and leaf and yellow flower, strong and stubborn and hard to get rid of, the insects' delight, and the grazing rodent's joy.
Weeds, all of them, but weeds that would open the way for other things to grow later. He grinned, and tossed the seeds into the breeze to go where they would, grow where they would, free as the air that carried them.
If they grew here and thrived, that would open up the doors to so much more growing here. They would improve and break up the ground and leave it better for whoever and whatever came here after him. The knights might not approve so much, since these were technically weeds rather than anything 'useful', but the knights hadn't, to his (admittedly limited) knowledge, done anything more for the Stormwastes than idle talk in over an arc. He'd kept his ear to the ground for the settlements that were supposedly starting out here, but there had been none but Eureka. If there had been, he'd have done much the same for them as he had for Eureka itself. Besides, he would take almost any bet that the knights wouldn't think any further than farm crops and farm animals. If you wanted a place to truly come alive, however, you needed plants for the wild animals and the birds and the insects to feed on, in order for them to feed each other in the ever interconnected web that was the wild. If you wanted fish in your lake or rivers, then the fish needed plants or insects or both to feed it and shade it, shelter it and nurture it. And the insects it fed on needed food of their own, and any fish that died would, in turn, feed and nourish the plants. On top of that, if he was going to extend his living range in that direction, then he also needed food he could gather. He was, or at least tried to be, part of that interconnection, taking only what he needed, and giving back enough that the land would thrive rather than suffer in his wake.
If they didn't grow here, then all that was lost was a bit of his time, and he had enough spare for this. The Stormwastes had been a scar on nature longer than he'd been alive. If he could help them heal - if he could take this land and bring it alive again - it was all worth it. He couldn't, he'd accepted, heal the whole thing on his own. It was too big and too damaged for that. All he could do was try. Bring seeds out here, and offer them to the wind and the dirt and the water and hope that they stuck. It was a drop in the ocean. It would, in practice, take something the size of Eureka - several somethings the size of Eureka - to make a real dent in the reclaiming.
Maybe, whoever the knights got to run their settlement, assuming they actually started one at this point, would listen to him, let him hang around and put in some work, the way that Faith did for Eureka. He sighed, swung up into Cloud's saddle, and turned her for home, letting all his vigilence stretch out in case of danger.
Later, when he was back in his camp, and nursing of a mug of mint tea over the remains of his evening meal, he found his mind drifting back to all the things he could do, all the ways he could help such a damaged land heal - if whoever was running the settlements allowed him to. Plants that gave more back to the land than they took out. Perenials that were stubborn enough and quick growing enough (and useful enough) to turn the land green again, possibly even as green as the rest of the Stormlands. And then all the ways that he could sneak past unhelpful settlements to help nature, to help the land, (like today's planting) if they didn't give him actual permission. At which point he had to give up pretending that this was just a daydream, and admit that he was probably going to be stuck with actually doing it, come what may. The problem with being a part of nature, like he was, was that nature had a mind of its own and sometimes demanded things of you in return.
He sighed. Demands or no demands, there were things he needed to do. Like dealing with the aftermath of a meal. He drained the last of his tea, gathered up the bowl that had held his fish stew, and went to wash the dishes.
It wasn't until he was bedding down for the night that his mind hit him with one last zinger. What if the person in charge of the settlement wasn't a knight? What if - it was him?
"Signed words" Spoken words
