The Great Collection of the Elemental Families of Huphaea, anid 1830 #28

Hello Everyone! Welcome to September! It doesn’t seem possible that the year is three-quarters gone already. Kids are returning to school around here, school buses have returned to the morning traffic patterns. And now that I look at it, the red maple out my window is showing faint red and purple hues in the leaves. The heat and rain we have had may keep autumn’s arrival on a more normal schedule, but it will come nonetheless. It also should be brilliant! 🍁🍂 Stay safe and healthy!

So Elahna and Ivy finally reached Irillo and began making their way through the city in the last episode. We learned more about Ivy, too. Though she may be ‘nobility’ as we think of it, she did have an integrated upbringing. Despite being related to Regna Halesia and her mother being part of the Eanneadic Council, Ivy was a street tender and maintains her friendships from those summers spent competing for the Bronze Broom. But let’s get back into Irillo, shall we?~


The din of conversation increased, spilling from an opening on the other side of a tall, slender building of rough cream stucco with deep green timber accents. The sign that hung above the door was unusual; a central lime green lightning bolt pierced silver waves against a sky blue field. The green lightning was what drew my attention.

The sign of a Jival Orderly

“Ivy, what does that sign mean? Is there really green lightning?”

“That is the sign of a Jival orderly. They work by detecting irregularities in one’s life essence and restoring it to balance. The essence is shown as green because they often have abilities with animals and plants as well. House Bios has the element of air, but deals with living beings. Earth magic often colors their workings.”

“Oh, that does make sense. How would one know to go to them instead of the other orderly?”

“Well, generally when nothing else works. Or if there is a head injury or major trauma in the past. Emotional concerns too.”

“I see. That’s very interesting. I wonder if that’s who Fife really meant me to see the day they found me. Like I’d been knocked on the head, or something, talking about other worlds and such.”

“Most likely, though Cragbend’s orderly isn’t a Jival, he’s a Mendly. Not much he could have done for you, had you turned out to be touched. Good thing we all believed you.”

“Yes, good thing.” I said.

So that made me wonder if not everyone would believe me; that I was from another world. Someone could think me mad, after all. Then I’d have to go see a Jival orderly to ‘correct my irregularities.’ I wondered what they would find.

A young woman rounded the corner, entering the traffic flow, a large basket filled with vegetables over one arm and a squawking chicken clutched in the other. Her face reflected embarrassment and she tried tucking the noisy bird backward under her arm to quiet it, which only made it squawk louder.

*Image by NickyPe from Pixabay 

“Best put that one right in the pot, fla, else you’ll have no peace!” A passerby advised the flustered girl, which elicited guffaws and laughter from those around us.

The direction she had come from opened up into a broadly crescent-shaped space guarded by an obelisk of mottled white and gray marble. People were packing carts and hauling hand wagons toward the road, while others hefted bags or crates. Whatever had gone on there apparently had finished for the day.

“Each quarter of the city has its own market. Vendors and traders have specific days they attend on, so their customers know when to find them. Many rotate between quarters, but some only visit one or two. They figure out what works best for them. They are wrapping up for today.”

We were almost past the market entrance when a sound like water pattering on a crystal chandelier rang out. Ivy reined in abruptly. I followed suit a few paces on.

“Elements be, sir, how long until the rain?” Ivy asked an older man pulling a hand wagon.

The man’s gray hair stood out on end around the sides of his head beneath the flattened felt hat he wore. Long, slender, pointed ears fit through slots in the hat’s turned edge. When he gazed up at us, the copper rings piercing the points of his ears glinted in the setting sun. His face had deeply weathered lines around slate gray eyes. Numerous laugh lines framed the smile that blossomed across his lips. It was the kind of face that made me want to smile in return and I found myself doing just that.

“Elements be, she of the Arborea. The clock does say we have but half an *erdur until the land gets a bath. Are you heading far?”

“No, just to Forelore. My friend has never been to Irillo, however, so I didn’t want to dawdle too long. My thanks, stay dry yourself this evening.” Ivy nodded slightly, to which the smiling man bowed low.

“The clock tells the weather?” I asked, a bit in awe.

“Each face of the clock towers in the markets tells a different thing. One face tells time, one tells how long until and what the weather workers have scheduled. That was the rain chime you heard. Another face shows the *anar of the anek of the anos, and the last shows the current astro sign. They are wonders. Each clock and each face is different. Make sure you see them when you are out exploring.” Her eyes slid horizontally toward me. “And I know you will.”

“Why of course! As soon as I can!”

“Turn left at the next street, we’ll go the longer way. This way has a better view of Forelore and leads us right to the stables.” Ivy indicated the next fork in the road.

Before we left the South Road, I spied an ivory stone bridge arching over the silvery river. More black metal scrollwork intertwined with shining copper topped the span’s walls. The effect was stark yet still elegant and refined. Shrubs shorn into animal topiaries flanked the bridge end. One looked like it might be a fish of some sort, the other I couldn’t tell.

Forelore sat directly opposite us, on the far shore, its pale gray walls topped with what had looked to be one color of green from afar, but was actually roofs of several shades of green that blended to create the same serene backdrop as a forest canopy. Off to the right, the red I saw earlier resolved into the shape of an immense flame on top of another building. I craned my neck back to keep looking as we moved off to the left.

“Is that really a flame on that part of Forelore, off to the right?” I asked.

“Yes, the main part of the Flamel wing is crowned with a flame. It looks like its burning in the sunlight because it’s roofed with red crystal tiles. It’s one of the more extravagant aspects of Forelore. Trees make up parts of the Gaiist wing, but nothing like Rosewood Manor. The Aeros wing has more glass and crystal than stone. Each wing reflects the family it houses. You’ll see more when we get there. We’re on Rose Street at the moment, can you tell why?”

Looking around, I certainly could. Roses of every color in the rainbow adorned the fences along the road. To my dismay, there were even blue roses—a clear sky blue and a pale pastel blue that was almost white. One house had an arbor covered with grape-purple and snowy-white single-flower roses. And black. Densely petaled charcoal blooms dotted the vibrant palette. It was gaudy and breathtaking at the same time, not to mention fragrant.

*Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay 

I stifled a sneeze and blurted “Blue roses? You have blue roses?”

“Why, yes. Of course. Do you not?”

“No. We have blue flowers, but true blue is quite rare in Earth’s plant world. And no blue roses of any shade. Black also doesn’t really exist. Most flowers labeled black are actually very deep purple. I’ll have to revisit this stretch later—.”

My words trailed off as we approached another bridge over the Irilliscint.

The roses on Rose Street were truly amazing. The residents decreed among themselves that the only flowers allowed along the fences are roses. There can be other plants in beds or pots behind them in the front yard, but only roses along the fences. The homeowners employ individuals with herbaceous plant talents to keep them blooming as long as possible into the winter; indeed, there is a Yule Rose contest. Which speaks more to the ability of the Elemental than the resident. Nevertheless, reputations are made and lost, and relationships forged in this time. I learned about that later on but thought it was appropriate to tell you about here. I would have loved to participate in such a contest, if I had magic, of course.

*erdur = hour; anar= day; anek = week; anos = month


Can you picture Rose Street? The picture I used above gives a good idea of the effect, but the roses were their own colors, which made it so much more brilliant. The blue, black, and purple shades captivated me, I couldn’t get over them. I strolled Rose Street whenever I could, it was always changing, and always lifted my spirits. Imagine what other wonders Irillo holds! Let me know some of your ideas below 👇🏼

Want more from the land of Huphaea? Become a Nightingale! Use the form below to subscribe to Collata⚡ , The Collection of Huphaea newsletter. Can’t wait to see you there!👇🏼

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©2021 Eleanorah Starr and Red Leaf Word Services. All Rights Reserved.

ISWG September blog post — How Do You Define Success as a Writer?

Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!

 Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.   

 You ready?
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!

September 1 question – How do you define success as a writer? Is it holding your book in your hand? Having a short story published? Making a certain amount of income from your writing?

The awesome co-hosts for the September 1 posting of the IWSG are Rebecca Douglass, T. Powell Coltrin @Journaling Woman, Natalie Aguirre, Karen Lynn, and C. Lee McKenzie!


*Image by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay 

At this time in my life, my writing is a sideline venture; one I pursue because I want to. I’m not expecting it to float me financially, at any point, and any monetary gain I might make from it is a bonus—another revenue stream.

And because the time I have to write is sporadic. Building and running my freelance editing business is my main focus, as it should be. But writing my own book dovetails nicely with it.

I often think about this topic after I have finished reading or listening to a book. I do review books on Goodreads, Amazon, NetGalley, and occasionally here, which requires an evaluation of sorts. The first question I ask myself is: Was I entertained by this book?

Rarely do I answer no, because I wouldn’t have gotten that far if I didn’t find it entertaining. For me, then, that author was successful. They entertained me with their story and writing, fulfilling one of the most basic tenets of storytelling.

*Image by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay 

Books are my go-to time fill. I like my reading or audiobooks to take me to places and times I can’t go to on this physical plane. Or for non-fiction, to leave me with a lasting nugget of information I take and use to improve my life or career.

Success for me is about making an impression that lasts. Whether it is with my gardens and plants, my editing, or my writing, I will feel successful if I make an impression on others that lasts. If my clients contact me again when they need an edit, or a reader recalls the blog post about the alternate land of Huphaea at a future date when my book is out, I will have been successful.

©2021 Red Leaf Word Services. All Rights Reserved.

Reblog — Can Writers Still Be Readers? — Writer Unboxed

This is a topic that comes up often in conversation among writers, and more importantly, among editors. Many who say they do all three activities grouse about how one has ruined some of the others for them. Perhaps I’m in a minority, but I haven’t had this happen. Yet.

It may be that my brain works in a different way, one that segments and separates easier than someone else. I have high Input, Strategic, and Learner Gallup Strengths, information intake is my specialty. It stands to reason that sorting it would be also. I can file away that poignant metaphor or plot twist for later musing and not let it dampen the story or ruin it.

Either way, I find it a fascinating topic that is as individual as the person expressing it. Here’s another opinion from Writer Unboxed.

What do you think? Does writing and/or editing affect your reading?~

image by Paul Bence

All writers begin as readers, right? We fell in love with other people’s stories—where they could take us, what they could do—and then, one day, decided to make a story ourselves. 546 more words

Can Writers Still Be Readers? — Writer Unboxed

Reblog — Thinking Fiction: The Book as an Object — An American Editor

This topic caught my eye while I was scrolling. I enjoyed the discussion about the phases a manuscript goes through as it passes to different people on the publishing journey. We all believe our writing to be a part of us, but isn’t the idea that it becomes “real” only once someone else has read it a bit ironic? The section about the author-editor relationship and how an editor views a book is informative—something to be kept in mind when you send your work out. Well worth reading for writers and editors, enjoy!~

Carolyn Haley Writing a novel has often been likened to having a baby. The analogy is apt, in terms of gestation, obsession, pain, thrill, frustration, and all that goes with the long-term development of a new life. Less often discussed is what happens later in the process, when it’s time to push the fledgling out […]

Thinking Fiction: The Book as an Object — An American Editor

Nyssa’s Nuggets

“Start the day with something you love.”

Nyssa has two favorite times of the day—walk times and feeding times, both of which occur twice daily. Isn’t she lucky?

Since she was old enough, I have taken her for a walk first thing in the morning. Many people say it helps a dog merge into the day easier if they go out to “patrol” their surroundings first. It seems to work fairly well in the 25 years I have been doing it with seven different dogs.

We speed-walk three-quarters of a mile down the street because she can’t wait to get to the furthest point away from the house that I will go. Then we amble back, or rather I tow her back. She truly loves her walks, no matter when they happen.

When we return, she has her food and then settles in to perhaps play a little, but certainly nap the morning away. All is good.

I find the early morning walks energizing as well. It helps to set the tone of the day, or bring to my attention what my tone is so I can correct it, if need be. It gets my muscles moving and my brain working. I rarely have any sleep fog lingering after the first couple of minutes down the road.

It also gives me the opportunity to witness some truly amazing celestial moments and gorgeous sunrises. Because the traffic gets busy very early around here, we are always walking in the hour or so just before dawn.

The quiet is perfect for a morning mind-sort.

So though at times I rail against morning walks in my mind, (think winter and rain), I do enjoy them.

The open promise of what the day can become is so tangible in those hours before dawn. Starting the day this way has been part of half my life now, so it must be something good.

It gives you more of an opportunity to enter the editing day with a sunny outlook.

Or if you write, getting your own words down first can make the difference between finishing your book and not. You are, after all, your number one customer, right?

Put yourself first and do something that makes you feel good before sitting down to better someone else’s work. Mindset is everything.

Do you start the day with something that makes you feel good, feel strong, feel positive? Try a walk one warm morning, and I guarantee you will feel uplifted the moment the birds start singing while the sky changes color in burgeoning silence. Or get that next paragraph written, or master that yoga stretch. A few little endorphins patrolling around your brain and you will be ready to take on that block of text you gave up on last night.

Shake off the sleep, wake the muscles, drop off the dregs of yesterday, and walk home with a spring in your step and your tail curled high on your back. Like Nyssa does. Akitas do know best.

Have a great week! Woof woof roooooo!~ 🐕‍🦺


What is your morning routine, does it start with something that makes you feel good? If not, would you like it to? Let me know in the comments below 👇🏼, maybe we can help each other better our mornings.😊

If you’d like to get more editing tips for your own editing endeavors, subscribe to the Red Leaf Word Services newsletter and get your copy of my 15 Tips for Self-Editing checklist.

You can find the checklist popup at www.redleafwords.com, or use this link here to sign up and get your copy! You may even get more of Nyssa in the newsletter too 😉.

©2021 Red Leaf Word Services. All Rights Reserved.

Reblog — 11 Techniques for Transforming Clichéd Phrasings — WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®

One of the editing tips I recently posted on my social media channels for Red Leaf Words Services had to do with rephrasing clichés in your own unique way when you want to use the basic idea. This post from the informative ladies at Writers Helping Writers shows you how to do just that. Your readers will thank you!~

One of the things that pumps me up the most when I’m reading a book is when the author phrases things in a way I’ve never seen before. It could be a familiar concept or image—red hair, an urban street, fear—but when it’s written differently, I’m able to visualize that thing in a new way,…

11 Techniques for Transforming Clichéd Phrasings — WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®

Nyssa’s Nuggets

“I’m suggesting you take a different approach, Cedar.”

Cedar and Nyssa playing

Nyssa rules the roost here. Yes, she is the biggest, but size doesn’t seem to matter very much to Dash, nor to Cedar. Both of them love her to bits and bask in her attention when she gives it to them. She instructed Dash to play the way she wanted him to from day one, even though he is fifty pounds lighter than her. He happily complied and they play beautifully together to this day.

Cedar, on the other hand, is a cheeky, fresh young lad. Nyssa is thrilled she finally has an Aussie that loves her and plays with her (my previous boy, Tristan, tolerated her presence) but she is always suggesting he take a different approach.

Sometimes Cedar takes that advice, sometimes he doesn’t. But they still end up playing and happy nonetheless.

The key takeaway from this exchange is the suggesting.

As editors, we are asked to look at someone else’s work with the idea of helping them improve it. In that light, our feedback takes the form of suggestions.

We don’t have the final say over what is left in, how it is phrased, or even punctuated sometimes.

Which is OK and we have to BE OK with that.

Suggestions leave room for acceptance, further thought, or rejection. (This may not apply as much to copyediting, which does adhere often to style guides and other rules for the finer elements of writing.)

The point is that our outside view to the work gives us the ability to see other layers that could be explored or a different direction to approach an issue from. To encourage more thought on the matter that could benefit the reader down the line.

Suggestions don’t demand a certain outcome. It’s not in their nature.

Even when Nyssa is “suggesting” to Cedar not to do as he is, he still has the option to continue and most times he does. Then when he does accept her offer of an alternate way, they end up playing together far longer than if he’d ignored her suggestion.

We want to feel that our efforts have been worthwhile over the course of a developmental or line edit—it’s a lot of work! And often that is only judged by how many edits are accepted. Does that mean we have failed?

No. In the end, the final decision is not ours. Authors can be attached to a particular phraseology that sets an editor’s teeth on edge, it’s their prerogative. It’s their creation. And all of us writer-editors will certainly reserve that right in our own stead!

It can be very difficult to separate the emotion of the hard work from the feeling of not being heeded. Good communication between the editor and author can ease this disparity, as can remembering that we are using our expertise to suggest.

Editors still have all of those accepted suggestions that were acknowledged and appreciated to fall back on. The old saying is that you can’t please one hundred percent of the people one hundred percent of the time. Authors know this too, or they will find it out in reviews for certain. It’s not all or nothing.

At the end of an editing project, I remind myself that these are my suggestions for where I can see some extra thought or reworking is needed. Through my comments and our converstaions, the author can choose to do with those ideas as they will. The more important part is reaching the goal of the editor-author partnership—publishing the best work possible.

Which probably means we may play together again. Like Nyssa and Cedar.

She isn’t daunted when he carries on, because she knows she has done her work in communicating her suggestions. It’s then up to him to take them or not. She advises, he asserts and they meet in the middle to carry on and live together well (thankfully for me). It makes their relationship stronger, and it can with authors and editors, too.

By keeping our minds open, our discussions thought-provoking and considerate, and our common goal in mind, we can measure success in more than ‘accepted vs. rejected.’ It seems to work well for dogs, why shouldn’t we consider it? If it means I can eat, sleep, and play, I’m in. So make your suggestions, try not to be daunted by rejected ones, and keep playing!

Have a great week! Woof woof roooooo! 🐕‍🦺


Fantasy Authors! Have you heard about ProWritingAid’s upcoming Fantasy Week? No?

Do you love writing fantasy? 

Our friends at ProWritingAid have you covered!

ProWritingAid’s first ever Fantasy Writer’s Week will be jam-packed with free events for fantasy authors.

With live sessions from bestselling fantasy writers TJ Klune, Angela J. Ford, David Farland and Stephanie BwaBwa, a world-building workshop, and a complete World Anvil software walkthrough, you don’t want to miss this event!

Register for this free event here: https://prowritingaid.com/art/1571/fantasy-writer-s-week-at-prowritingaid.aspx?afid=8897

*Please note this is an afffiliate link, so I may receive some compensation if you click through here 😉.

Interested in more information about Red Leaf Word Services editing? Please visit my website www.redleafwords.com. It has undergone some reorganization, come on by and check it out!

There is a new service—The First 100 Pages edit. It’s great for getting an idea of how your story works from the beginning so you can continue with a blueprint in mind, or for giving self-editing a start. Even for trying out a new level of editing. You can find more information about it on the For Fiction Authors page at Red Leaf Word Services.

While you are there, you can sign up for the newsletter, where you can get more of Nyssa. ‘Cause she always has more to say, she’s an Akita! Or you can sign up below 👇🏼 and still get the same editing news, offers, and tips.

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©2021 Red Leaf Word Services. All Rights Reserved.

The Great Collection of the Elemental Families of Huphaea, anid 1830 #21

Hello Everyone! Hope you are all keeping well with the difficult weather parts of the US are experiencing right now. The Northeast is used to the snow and freezing temps each winter, I can only imagine how difficult it is to deal with when the infrastructure isn’t designed to handle it. Feel free to send it back this way, where it belongs, we could use some more in my opinion 🤔. February is moving along and we are approaching the year anniversary of lockdown here. It’s actually an odd feeling, to think that it’s only been a year—it feels like ten. Before we know it, the trees will be budding and the Easter bunny will be hopping around, though he already appears to have visited the stores… The Easter candy was out three weeks before Valentine’s Day! But anyway, we should get back to the story after my unplanned hiatus. Stay strong and healthy, spring is on the way!~

We last left the ladies, Ivy and Elahna, in Sawyerset at The Tarnished Blade Inn. The innkeeper had just instructed them to not dawdle in returning to the dining room, as it was filling up quickly. Shall we rejoin them?~


Returning to our setting

I must have stood gazing a second or two too long, as Ivy touched me on the shoulder. “Come on, you heard Lissa, we’d better be quick or we’ll be standing.”

A few heads turned and watched us ascend the stairs, but not in an overly concerned manner. The second floor was a warren of rooms extending off the main hallway that wound the length of the building, much like the random table arrangement in the room below. Though the room placement seemed haphazard though, I decided it was actually carefully planned to maximize space and the number of rooms. “The corner room is my usual, yours is right here. This stair goes to behind the bar and out to the wash building, that’s why Lissa always holds it for me.” Ivy put a hand on her doorknob, “Meet you back in an erd?”

“Yeah, sure.” I pushed open my door and stepped into a tidy, yet welcoming space just big enough to be called a room. It held a single bed, a low dresser, a chair, and a small round table arranged around a long, oval, emerald green rug. The curtains matched the hue of the rug. I slung my bag onto the bed and looked out the window over the back of the tavern. A blocky structure jutted out from the main building, which must be the kitchen that Lissa disappeared into, and a smaller, thatch-roofed building stood further back but directly behind our rooms. A thin trail of smoke rose from a central chimney and people entered or exited from either end. The wash house? I surmised I was about to find out.

*Photo by form PxHere

I turned to head back out to meet Ivy, just as she stepped in. “Oh, this is so cute, will it suit you?” I nodded. “Good, grab that linen and let’s go wash up quick. I don’t know about you, but I feel quite dusty.” She held a ruby red towel and a round of light pink soap. I did suddenly feel quite gritty, though I hadn’t noticed much dust on the ride.

After I pulled the door closed, Ivy reached out and drew a finger across the door frame and the jamb in three places, sealing the door closed with strips of gnarly wood. I gave her what I hoped was a questioning look and she shrugged as she turned. “Not that I don’t trust Lissa and Beren, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. It will keep the curious and inebriated out, at least. I’m not sure if news of your identity has beaten us here or not. But it won’t be long if it hasn’t.”

That was the first time I had witnessed anyone take any precautions whatsoever. Somehow, it made me feel a bit more at ease. Not having to be aware of those around me had been unsettling, when I allowed myself to think about it. And though Ivy was an Elemental, her powers were of an arboreal nature, and I wasn’t sure how much protection that could provide if necessary. She’d just grown ‘tree tape’ but could she grow a wooden shield or knife if we needed it? Come to think of it, at this point, I didn’t even know what her ability was. I decided to ask that, casually, if the opportunity presented itself. It all just made me think more and more of the fictional worlds I so loved. And it appeared I had stumbled into one, literally.

The wash building turned out to be more like an outhouse with a steam room built in. A bench of latrine places, separated with three-foot tall dividers lined one wall and a screen of translucent silk painted in a mountain scene divided it from the steaming stone pool that was sunken into the floor. My jaw dropped open at the bubbling bath, it looked so inviting! A couple of stone basins stuck out from the wall alongside the pool and Ivy was already soaking her cloth under the tap.

“I’d love to get into that, I don’t feel saddle sore, but that would definitely help prevent it.” I nodded toward the pool, as I tried to figure out how to make water flow from the single pipe that bent into the basin.

Ivy reached over me and pressed her thumb into a depression in the stone wall. Water began to flow, slightly warm, over the cloth in my hands. I deduced then how to adjust the temperature and the volume using the depressions I could now pick out on the wall and the tap. “That does sound like an excellent idea. As long as we don’t fall too far into our cups at dinner,” she gave me a lopsided smile.

“Oh, don’t worry about that with me. I have no desire to have a big head on a horseback ride. That would be pure torment.” I shook my head vehemently, remembering how I woke up in Raga’s tent that first morning. “I’m good.”

We finished up a quick toilette. The pink soap was smooth and fragrant like a bouquet of fresh roses with a rich lather. When Ivy wrung her linen out, I was astonished at how much water she extracted. The cloth was nearly dry! I did the same to my own, and by the time we reached our rooms again, it WAS dry. No real need for drying racks as such, I thought. Remarkable.

I slowed my pace a bit when we retraced our steps downstairs, taking in the scene that unfolded as I rounded the staircase. The crowd had increased, along with the din of upbeat conversation. Tankards decorated tabletops next to brawny, tanned arms amid a sea of colorful plaids. Ivy paused with a few steps to go, looking for an empty table I assumed, but Lissa’s exuberant wave drew my attention. She beckoned us to a small table against the opposite wall where she stood minding a tray of food and a chilled pitcher.

*Image by 6557056 from Pixabay

“Here you are, game hen stew and a pitcher of fresh sparkly. Everything to your liking upstairs? Anything else you need, just wave me over. Gotta run just now, enjoy!” Once again, Lissa snaked off into the growing crowd, calling out orders as she entered the kitchen. Ivy and I exchanged an arch look and then laughed in unison.

“I couldn’t have gotten a word in sideways if I’d had to!” I said.

“I know! Once the crowd settles in, though, she’ll visit with a tankard of her own. Lissa can drink level with any of the sawyers. I’d even put her up against someone with rock troll blood and put my wager on her. She and Beren built this tavern themselves, including milling the timber. Beren was a sawyer previously and Lissa’s whole family are, she grew up in a mill. She can horse-whisper, and was responsible for the mill horses, but she loves working with wood. Most of the interior is her work.”

The two tiny birds steaming in thick broth with carrots, peas, onions, and potatoes was difficult to ignore up to that point. Naturally, once Ivy mentioned Lissa’s work, I had to look around and see what she meant.

Photo by form PxHere

Many of the tables, including ours, were made of entire round slabs of tree trunk, bark and all. Varnish sealed the tops in a thick layer as clear as glass. The bar counters were of the same idea, the rough live bark edges worn almost smooth by thirsty patrons. The more I looked, the more unique details I picked out—finial carvings on the support columns, the bannister scroll work on the spiral stair, different fluting on the legs of the tables and chairs, wood burning and etching around the windows. Personal touches that gave the tavern a welcoming, lived-in atmosphere. Then my mind snagged on something else she had said.

“What’s a rock troll?”

“I wondered if you’d caught that.” Ivy’s green eyes sparkled with delight. “There aren’t many, if any, here in Huphaea. But they are a large, resilient people who live in mountainous areas on other continents. At least on Iacewen, that I know of. They don’t have any magic of their own and have been known to capture women to try to infuse magic into their population. It doesn’t ever work that way, but some rock trolls keep trying anyway. Almost like they forget about the results.”

“You make it sound scientific, like its an experiment.”

“I don’t know that odd s-word you said, but I suppose it could be described that way, like an experiment. Or even a game to some of them. The rock troll tribe always loses, because the half-troll individual is either turned out when no magic appears, or they leave of their own accord to find more developed societies.”

“That doesn’t sound like an intelligent approach.”

“Intelligence isn’t a rock troll specialty. Fortuantely, most of the true half-trolls gain in that way from their non-troll parent. That’s why they all leave the cave towns.”

“I see. So that blood confers some ability to hold a lot of drink, I take it? Would you be able to tell someone had rock troll blood just by looking at them?”

“Sometimes. Those with rock troll blood are usually larger in physical stature, with a greyish hue to their skin. But both can diminish as the bloodline dilutes and there are plenty of people with larger builds, as we see.” Being in a mill town, we were surrounded by large-framed individuals in that room alone. “The only trait that gives any rock troll lineage away is gray eyes. No other race has gray eyes, so if you meet someone with gray eyes, they have enough rock troll blood to matter. And don’t challenge them to a drink-off.” She grinned again as she filled two flagons from the frosty pitcher.

“I’ll remember that. Certainly.”

We fell into silence for a bit, making forays into the stew with deep-bowled wooden spoons and hearty dark brown bread. The cider was crisp and on the sweeter side, but quite refreshing and it complemented the stew perfectly. I noticed the number of glances and nods in our direction increasing with the influx of patrons. I began to wonder if I was about to become a sideshow to the night’s revelry.

In general, I’m not one to go about attracting attention, so this situation made me uneasy. However, I wasn’t facing a sea of hostile faces, just curious ones that probably mirrored my own. I decided that this evening was no different than any of the others I had spent in foreign countries back home. At least here I could speak the language, mostly. I used that thought as an anchor and screwed up my confidence. After all, we were all humans or elves or some combination thereof with the common threads of curiosity and, I imagine, speculation. Probably nothing would happen anyway.

Thoroughly satiated on stew, I slid my bowl to the end of the table, wondering what would come next. Should we vacate the table for other dining patrons and find a place along the wall at the drink rail if we intended to stay? My eyes flicked up to Ivy, seeking a cue from her, but she sat calmly finishing her stew and tidying the tableware.

Lissa appeared a moment later with a mousy-haired girl of about nine (or nova) in tow, a heavily carved tankard in her hand. She indicated to the girl to clear the dishes away and snagged an empty stool from a table across the aisle.

Image by prenzberger from Pixabay

The men at the table leaned out and around each other to sling good-natured barbs at Lissa and soon we were all laughing together.

After some hasty introductions and small talk about the day, Lissa turned back to our table and hunched conspiratorially over her tankard, her eyes alighting on me. “So, tell me, what was it like to realize you aren’t where you belong? Was it as janked as I imagine it would be? Was the travel frightening?”

“I, ah, well, if you mean was it odd, then no. One second I was walking forward into an old stone structure, the next I was in a different one. That’s all it was. No falling, or darkness, or stretching, or voices, or light. It was just a step like any other. Only it wasn’t.” I had been expecting some questions at some point, but not this particular one. Lissa seemed disappointed almost, but she recovered quickly, firing off more questions until she appeared satisfied and her tankard was empty.

“I should go check on Beren and the lads, hold my stool? I’ll bring another pitcher, no?”

“Sure, but only if you bring some apple crunch with it. I’ve been dreaming of it all day, I even saved room for it, and here you’ve made me wait without even a mention of it!” Ivy sagged back in her chair, a dramatic pout on her face for a few seconds before she winked at me.

“Pssshaaww! And you knew I’d make it special for you, Miss Ivy, didn’t you? As if my sontris’d let me forget you were a’comin’!” Lissa jumped up from the table, feigned offense crumbling into laughter. “Mark my words, you’ll wake up one morning t’ find my Scosy underneath your branch there at Rosewood, waiting on your wishes. I’ll be back in an erdin with your crunch and cider, my lady,” and she swept a mocking bow in Ivy’s direction, mirth plastered on her face.

Ivy pealed into laughter, but her face turned a shade of delicate rose pink in the wake of Lissa’s words. Smiles blossomed on the faces of the men across the aisle, who had obviously been listening to Lissa’s line of questioning and my replies. They knew who I was for certain now. Ivy righted herself and traced her fingers around the rim of the tankard. “I do hope that doesn’t come to pass. But wait until you have her apple crunch. It is fabulous.”

I was pretty sure I couldn’t fit another bite, but the steaming apple crunch in the crock and bowl of fresh whipped cream Lissa returned with was too tempting to pass up.

Image by FlitsArt from Pixabay

Lissa helped polish it off, thankfully, along with the pitcher of cider. The conversation turned to local matters and news of individuals both women had in common. At one point, Lissa inquired about Aymur almost shyly, which was so out of character that I picked up on it right away. “He is well,” Ivy answered. “Grandess Daphne keeps him busy lately since she injured her ankle. No doubt she summoned the Orderly first thing now that he is back. He was probably gathering herbs for poultices when we passed him. Unclen will be eager to see her well and back to administering. He is far too used to having his own time most days.”

“Ah, that’s why he hasn’t been by lately. Some of the lads said they could use his talent in the spruce grove. The gall aphids are winding up fierce this year, they wanted a bit of reinforcement from him. Speaking of which, before you go, you should examine the center tree. It hasn’t leafed as quickly as usual and one of the young ones said they could see some sap oozing way up toward the crown. Perhaps you could help? I’m sure if Porter comes in he’ll ask ye to, but here then, you’ve already been made aware.”

“Of course I will, in the morning before we depart.” Ivy glanced at me. “Still in want for a stone bath soak? After all this food and talk I admit it sounds like a good way to cap the evening, and ensure a good night’s sleep.”

“Absolutely! It would be a perfect end, yes.”

“Right then, I’ll leave you ladies to it, my thanks for the updates, Ivy. Tell Aymur to pop in next time he’s round. I’ll leave two bathing sheets by the back door, grab them on your way to the bathhouse. I’ll be in at first light if you want breakfast, but don’t rush on account of me. It’s my early day. Elements be, then, g’tag.”

“Oh, you’ll probably see Unclen before I do, I’ll be in Irillo for a while. Sounds perfect though, thank you. Elements be, Lissa, g’tag.”

Was every meal I ate delicious, you ask? Yes! I honestly can’t think of one thing I did not like, which is highly unusual for me. Oh yes, I was super curious about that little exchange about Aymur. Lissa certainly seemed fond of him by the way she talked, she actually softened somewhat. I never did ask about her horse whispering ability, but I imagine it was as you would expect, without mind magic or Sentients. I’ll stop here for this segment. The night can continue next time!~


The Tarnished Blade sure sounds like a fun place to spend an evening, right? Do you enjoy places like that? I did before going to Huphaea, and definitely did while I was there. I was lucky enough to be in respectable establishments during my stay. Our position as Collectors would not allow anything less since it was realm business. I did hear about some rather unsavory places in Irillo, though, through the gossip channels. Let me know your tavern experiences in the comments below!

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