Legend tells of the lost forests of Adún. The trees once covered the hills of Oudundúr, running deep into the Spineland, and beyond into the Great Sea. My favorite part of the forest (for our own little homestead bordered it, in part) was not the towering trees of elven lore or their green sisters, the moss--but the delicate white flowers that grew in the recesses of the oaks, beneath the hidden valleys and shadowed places of Adún.
When the silence came, they wilted first. I remember, because I had just been betrothed to Ador, the Miller's son, and I had wanted a bouquet of the white blossoms for my wedding garnish.
They were nowhere to be found.
I searched and searched far and wide over our lands for many years. One year, after the birth of our second daughter, I saw these growing under the eve of the lean-to where Ador stored his tools. They had just bloomed, and the fresh scent like honey and lavender sent me back to days of languor, when I used to recline perched in a tree and reading a book. Oh, the taste of those green apples stolen from Gweeny's farm that I used to munch on...
I plucked them gingery. The petals were soft in my upturned palm, warm with spring. I practically ran from the loch to our pantry, where I took the blossoms and covered them in honey, firing them in the kiln where I baked pottery. I will pass it onto my daughter when she is old enough. Or, maybe my son, if he has a dream of adventuring, and not one of farming, or fields.
Perhaps then, something can be done about the forests and the flowers of my home. Maybe, someday, this curse will be lifted.
These small fable stories were written by me, inspired by pieces I curated from a vintage online shop I used to run. You can read more here.
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