Cinnamon Bear
Active Member
The sun rises from its bed nestled between the valley of the two highest peaks off the east horizon. It’s eyes blink through the waterfall, whose roar could be heard for miles, as smaller falls try to mimic its power. It is May now, and spring is taking its time bringing life back into the rivers, valleys, pastures, and mountainsides. The very high peaks are slow to melt its snow, but meanwhile in the lower areas there is a takeover of green; a cool hue that is bursting with the refreshing winter aftermath.
The morning is clear and all the birds have returned as a wave of sound, their tunes filling the ears of all living creatures. Carved out of a third mountain, third highest in the land of many peaks, is the town of Altuet. Its people are hard workers, each family claimed with a particular profession. The Friday morning had a slow start, but for 7:30 everyone was hard at work.
It was too early in the year for people to be concerned with dragons. Right now their biggest fear were bears and mountain lions. Those who worked outside stayed wary, but few were alone on this misty morning.
Children were playing in the streets, gawking at the newcomers. Thursday and Friday were the days traders came to visit in their greatest numbers. At least three quarters of the many that came in weekly were newcomers, so there was never an old face to greet. They would check in at the large guest house, and spend their few days and nights here learning, buying, and selling.
Like most of the people of Altuet, their occupation was within their own house. The Vieves house stood out though; since their business was plants, their home in particular was overcome with Ivy and moss and mushrooms. There was a separate area attached to the house, made up largely of windows, and what today might be called a greenhouse. There was a stone lined path from the small road to the front door to the conservatory in a "T" fashion. Her mother was examining a particular, rare type of ivy that was inching up and around the conservatory windows. Her father was inside the kitchen, brewing a batch of essence for the town doctor.
Zora Vieves, for a couple hours now, was very far away from a the gentle bustle. Her grandfather sent her out to collect Stinking Benjamin, a flower that smelled of rotting flesh. They were common this time of year and as many as possible had to be collected since they provided many necessary benefits, both medicinally and practically.
She wasn't far from the pasture, where the sheep were. She thought about the sheep and the boy who guided them. She thought about everyone. For how much she thought, she found it hard to do, because her head was too safe of a place to dream of a different reality. One where she could fly high above all the mountains and see every peak, every treetop. Then she stumbled upon another Stinging Benjamin, and realized how much more interesting life was up close. She smelled the flower and smiled. The more foul they smelled the more she loved what they did for her- for her family. She tucked it away in her burlap, leather lined satchel and carried on.
The morning is clear and all the birds have returned as a wave of sound, their tunes filling the ears of all living creatures. Carved out of a third mountain, third highest in the land of many peaks, is the town of Altuet. Its people are hard workers, each family claimed with a particular profession. The Friday morning had a slow start, but for 7:30 everyone was hard at work.
It was too early in the year for people to be concerned with dragons. Right now their biggest fear were bears and mountain lions. Those who worked outside stayed wary, but few were alone on this misty morning.
Children were playing in the streets, gawking at the newcomers. Thursday and Friday were the days traders came to visit in their greatest numbers. At least three quarters of the many that came in weekly were newcomers, so there was never an old face to greet. They would check in at the large guest house, and spend their few days and nights here learning, buying, and selling.
Like most of the people of Altuet, their occupation was within their own house. The Vieves house stood out though; since their business was plants, their home in particular was overcome with Ivy and moss and mushrooms. There was a separate area attached to the house, made up largely of windows, and what today might be called a greenhouse. There was a stone lined path from the small road to the front door to the conservatory in a "T" fashion. Her mother was examining a particular, rare type of ivy that was inching up and around the conservatory windows. Her father was inside the kitchen, brewing a batch of essence for the town doctor.
Zora Vieves, for a couple hours now, was very far away from a the gentle bustle. Her grandfather sent her out to collect Stinking Benjamin, a flower that smelled of rotting flesh. They were common this time of year and as many as possible had to be collected since they provided many necessary benefits, both medicinally and practically.
She wasn't far from the pasture, where the sheep were. She thought about the sheep and the boy who guided them. She thought about everyone. For how much she thought, she found it hard to do, because her head was too safe of a place to dream of a different reality. One where she could fly high above all the mountains and see every peak, every treetop. Then she stumbled upon another Stinging Benjamin, and realized how much more interesting life was up close. She smelled the flower and smiled. The more foul they smelled the more she loved what they did for her- for her family. She tucked it away in her burlap, leather lined satchel and carried on.