Spring Planting

Featuring Rhonwen | Doe | Commoner + Gerwin (NPC)
Spring, Year 765 of the New Age
Glenmore, the Oldegrove

Bedded down in her den, Rhonwen slept soundly. The morning sun was shining through the gaps of the weaving in her den, but with her head tucked into her belly and eyes tightly shut, she did a good job of blocking out the sun from her eyes. She dozed, dreaming of sweet cherries and apples and the juice running down her chin. Oh, how she could not wait until summer, where every magic-user would hardly have to work to produce fruit from the trees. The red doe would eat herself sick from her mother and father’s gardens, and hop from shop to shop asking for more. She was able to do that frequently as a young fawn… but as an eight year old, she might have a more difficult time.

She was growing up, and she felt her childhood slip more and more out of her grasp. She had survived three ruts, although at the side of her father except for one instance of her having to dart from a stag during a mead delivery. She could almost feel herself getting larger, taller, sleeker, and stronger. Her single horn had been longer this winter than it ever had been, her able to skewer five apples inside of three like the previous year. A party trick to most, but a way for her to gauge how much she had grown from year to year. This year she was more likely to be taken seriously, to be treated not like a young fawn. She was even given a den separate from her parent’s that previous winter, to allow her greater independence. But this also meant that she was a suitable candidate for rut hen the time came. Her father could not protect her much longer, and there would come a time where she would either have to defend herself, or allow herself to be claimed by a stag and bear fawns.

This did not enter her dreams however, and she dozed peacefully, thinking of apples and other seet things. 

However, this did not last long. Gerwin, her father and one of two helms of their business, needed her assistance in the busy time of year that was spring. He tapped on the wall of her den from the outside with his front hood, shaking it just enough to create noise to wake her. Some of the drying leaves and bark rustled loose and fell on the red doe, rustling her unceremoniously from her slumber.

“Rhonwen,” Gerwin said gently, prodding at the den a little more, “Time to wake up, sleepyhead. We have plenty of work to do this morning, and I would like some help please.” Gerwin was always soft in his words and his manner, unlike many stags in his land. Rhonwen had no experience of mean and aggressive stags because of this, and she knew that she could talk bakc to her father without too many repercussions. She lifted her head, her ears flicking and her eyes bleary. 

“Give me five more minutes, Pap,” she responded gruffly, shifting her weight from one side to the other. 

“I am afraid I already have,” Gerwin responded, lowering his head so she could hear him better, “Your mother told me to give you some time to rest, and it had been a whole hour since I told her I would leave you to sleep.”

“You’re saying you’re being generous?” Rhonwen responded, feigning a bit of anger, but smirking as she spoke. Her father could hear the smile on her face, and know that she was not serious in her anger.

”Perhaps I am, you know how I cannot say no to your mother,” Gerwin responded, “Come along now. Before I tell her how long I have been waiting for you to wake up.”

“Fine,” Rhonwen said, chuckling a bit. Her mother, Sulwen, was a force to be reckoned with when one of her daughters did not do as she was told by her. Gerwin was content to follow the lead of his wife, and even spoiling the girls a bit. No wonder Rhonwen assumed most stags should be like her father. The other stags who resided in the Oldegrove were nearly as lax as her father was, with the Royals being the ones who looking down at her as if she were an insect under their hoof. 

The red doe stepped out of her den, mane a little tangled and her tail still braided from the day before. Gerwin did not mind that his daughter’s appearance was somewhat ragged, just that she was capable of working out in their glade that day. 

“Your mother is out for the day, asking some of the seed merchants for their prices of cherry this season. But for now, we must plant some of what we already have in stock.” He had aged considerably, his eyes now drooped as well as being kindly, a long beard trailing from his chin. He had in him the experience of growing plants to attract bees and to give flavor to mead that made his and his mate’s business famous.

“Why did you not go out with her?” Rhonwen asked.

“You know as well as I do that your mother is a better haggler than I ever will be,” he chuckled, turning to start the walk to one of their plots of field, “I swear it is her eyes. She can mesmerize anyone with those eyes.”

“She mesmerize you?” Rhonwen teased, trotting in front of him. The plot was not too far away, so the two of them could take their time.

“If she hadn’t you wouldn’t be alive, my dear,” he joked, throwing his head back to shake off the morning bugs. Rhonwen turned around, now in front of her father, and stuck her tongue out at him. Most fathers would call her behavior childish, but he just stuck his tongue back out at her. 

The sun was fully out and away from the horizon, and the sky was a cerulean blue. Pale yellow and grey clouds streaked the sky, and a light cool breeze wisped through the trees. Their glade was close to the main drag of the Oldegrove merchant area, and she could hear some of the old-timers gossiping to each other as they set up their wares for a day of selling. 

“They got up late today too,” Rhonwen muttered, sounding sore from her, “I could have slept in later and still been here before they came-“

“Here we are,” he said, slowing to a stop. The ground was bare, the weeds and grass being removed by magical and grazing means. This land was set aside for fruiting bushes and rosehips, good additions to medicinal and fruity meads. The ground was tilled, the soil loosened and ready for planting.

“Now, I checked the soil content this morning, the land is ripe for planting. Could use some more fertilizer, but we will make due with what we have. I brought the pouch of seeds, do me a favor and bring me the gooseberries.”

“Here here, Pap, “ Rhonwen responded, walking over to her father’s woven satchel. There she saw the gooseberries. They were green in their prime, sweet and bitter at the same time. Good for brewing, not always the best for eating if  a fawn just had a sweet tooth. She took them in her mouth and walked back over to her father. 

When she re-joined him, she noticed small holes carved out of the dirt. Perfectly neat and small, around three inches deep by 2 inches across, she turned to see her father making the holes using his own magic. His eyes were closed, humming a happy tune as the holes seemingly dug themselves.

“I knew our kin could use magic,” Rhonwen said quietly, perhaps the quietest she had been since she had woken up from her slumber. 

“Of course, we all can,” Gerwin responded without missing a beat, “Unless you are a crossbred or talentless. But even then, you have your talents.”

“Like what? Herb knowledge?”

“Or strength,” the bay stag answered, “Some are even known to hold two kinds of magic. How fun that must be.”

“I suppose so,” Rhonwen answered, keenly interested. She had heard of the other herds, through stories from the elders or from Guardsmen coming home from a trip to the border. Most of what she heard, however, did not shed a good light on them. From the Oakferns, who stole innocent babes from their mothers to sacrifice, to Blackwoods, who took their does and enslaved them to be never heard from of seen ever again… it would not make most fawns eager to meet them. Rhonwen, however, was fearless; she wished to see all the islands, even the kingdoms of wind and fire as well as those of water and the dark.

But, alas. As a doe in the well-protected kingdom of Glenmore, she would most likely stay here the rest of her life. Not trapped, persay… but something of that sort. 

“Thank you for the seeds, my dear,” Gerwin said, “If you could drop those in each of the holes I have dug, it would be a big help. She did as such, dropping two or three seeds per hole, following her father up and down the rows of soil. 

“Hey Pap.”

“Yes dear?”

They were approaching the final row, and she noticed that the holes were not dug quite yet. She furrowed her brow; what was her father trying to do? 

“Why aren’t these dug up yet?”

Gerwin smiled, his grin going from ear to ear. “Oh my dear,” he said through a chuckle, “You are going to dig these.”

“I can’t do that, right?” she sputtered, “I thought that moving dirt was for folks older and more experienced than I am.” She looked at him skeptically, like he was going to reveal that this was all a joke on her after all. He looked back at her with an expression that could only say “No, go ahead and start digging.”

“Just apply your magic in a different way,” Gerwin said, “Imagine it like you were scooping up some water on your tongue… it feels more like a scoop than just a blast of energy from your hooves.”

“Okay…” she answered. The red doe dug her heels in, and tried to imagine the ‘scoop’ her father told her about. But… nothing would happen. She could see the bits of dirt rolling back and forth on the ground, she was certainly doing that… but she was not able to make them move.

“You are digging in too deep, darling,” her father said, “Loosen up a little. I glide over the gorund as I move it… it feels liquid after a little while.” He smiled at her, still believing that she could accomplish the task at hand. The red doe nodded nervously, then pulled her hooves from the soft dirt that they sunk down into. Closing her eyes loosely, she imagined the earth below her feet lifting up from the ground, dipping it up, letting it flow back down and away. She heard the sound of gentle rumbling, then the falling of loose wet dirt. Opening her eyes, she saw a small hole, about half the size of her father’s, in front of her. 

Now eager to continue, she closed her eyes again and felt that swaying motion of the energy over and over again, forming little holes of nearly equal size down the row. Her father planted berry seeds behind her, beaming with pride. Sure, her holes were not perfectly lined up with each other, or the same size, but she was flexing her muscles in a way that their family had done so for generations. It was what kept their business alive for all these years, and he knew it was in safe hooves with his daughters at the helm.

“Now, I’ll put you to task to ready the next five fields like this for me,” Gerwin said. Rhonwen butted her father in the shoulder in response.

“Sure, Pap.”

WC 2015