Now the figure was close enough for Lessis to see that it was exactly what she had feared, a tall girl in novice blues. Clearly whatever message impelled this person was important. At the crossing it turned onto the lane running up to Gelourd's fields. It disappeared from view when the road went around a bend, then came back into sight, pulling hard up the long slope. The figure was instantly at odds with the peace around it, a dot that emitted a field of tension. Someone, walking very fast, emerged from the trees on the west farm road. Suddenly she noticed a small node of change strike the pastoral scene. Limited time to devote to the study of the mystic. Add in such duties as the gathering of toads or the blessing of crops, and she found she had Just worrying about the roof of her house, and the flowers and fruit trees was enough to fill some days. She had found retirement even easier to enjoy than she had imagined. Lessis enjoyed the moment and gazed over toward the town with peaceful detachment. The wine was rather too good for her old tin cup, but Lessis decided that was part of Farmer Gelourd's homage to his toads-the "worthy little folk" of every well-kept field, who would annihilate crickets, beetles, and caterpillars. She washed down the good bread and the soft white cheese, and then ate an apple. A good Valmes Reserva was uncorked and poured into Lessis's plain tin cup.
#Aragami nightfall third level free
With the toad collectors he was always free with the best in his cellar. Farmer Gelourd sent out fresh-baked bread, cheese, and fruit to all the workers in his fields. In the sky were a handful of soft white clouds. Farther away sheep dotted the hillsides of Big Bank and Chalk Hill. Some black cattle were being moved up a lane about half a mile distant. It was a well-sited town, with centuries of concern taken with every detail of place and road. The graceful stone tower of the temple was due north, and the long spine of the temple roof was visible just behind. Spread before her was the town of Valmes, spires and roofs visible amid the trees. Behind her the ridge rose up in a long dun-colored mass. At lunch she rested sitting on the stone wall above the field. The day after that they would be returned to their fields, a simple task that farmworkers would perform, since all that was required was to open the bags and dump out the toads, carefully. She felt their confusion, they were afraid, poor things, but they were toads that would survive the morrow, when the harrow would tear through these fields. Ah, the toads, the fine rapacious toads, Lessis blessed them silently. It was a fine day, warm enough to require only a simple shift and sandals, but not so hot as to work up a sweat.
#Aragami nightfall third level full
In the next field over, Bertain's, she could see the old witch Katrice working with an assistant, hauling a cart full of toads toward the road. She put a shoulder bag occupied by two dozen disgruntled toads over the wall and into a barrow. Thus old Lessis, now in retirement, was at work that day in the field of Gelourd, still farmed by folk of that name after seven centuries. In Valmes, the witches were aligned to various farms from time immemorial. The world were virtually unknown in Cunfshon. The benefits of this last activity were enormous, and many of the diseases that plagued Of course, they also fashioned spells to encourage crops and animals, and they used their arts to drive away flies from house and stable. This was but one of many ways that the old witches, who had gone into the mystic or simply retired from active service, paid for their upkeep. For the farmers of Cunfshon, with their fine-tuned husbandry, were acutely conscious of the beneficial effect of toads, which consume insects in considerable numbers every growing season. The old witches, including all the retired crones, would scour the fields to gather the toads. Thus in Valmes, as in much of old Cunfshon, there was another custom. For toads, slow-hopping, crawling toads, it is certain death. For mice and voles this is bad enough, but these little fellows are swift-footed and might yet escape. But for the small inhabitants of the fields, the harrow is the most dreaded event of all, for there is no escape from its fifteen-foot-wide comb of steel points, dragging through the topsoil. When seen from a distance, or even while passing along the lane, harrowing seems a perfectly tranquil part of farming life-a scene for a pastoral painting, a poem to the glories of the annual round. They used teams of two or four horses to pull the great steel-toothed harrows, combing the ground and smoothing it out ready for the seed. Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet.ĭragons of Argonath by Christopher Rowley Chapter One It was the custom in the vale of Valmes for the farmers to harrow their fields in the spring, after the plow and before they planted.