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"Bad dreams and sleeplessness, the journey to the city can begin....

 

"Grizzly, impenetrable, damp, mysterious mist, fumbling with hands not knowing what you touch or where you stumble, tree roots like tentacles around the legs, tree branches like loops around the neck, suffocating, twigs like tiny needles scratching and biting the body like annoying mosquitoes. Mud, deep and gurgling, a slippery, greedy mouth that speaks in secret, devouring everything into its insatiable belly. A giant tail slams with a splash into the water, sharp teeth pull the body into a muddy hole.

Sweaty bodies shiver in the middle of the night and leap from the skins on the floor and sigh deeply. They sit on the steps almost until morning, bathed in moonlight.

"If you want, you can come with me, I'm going to the village tomorrow," says Axir coldly in the morning.

"Two years before you left, we last went there, I haven't had any reason to go there, Iiloi keeps an eye on me here..." he continues.

"You know best how thick your skin is," says the indifferent, sleepy Axir.

"It is indeed," mumbles Fam and lights his pipe.

 

They lazily wander towards the village along a rocky and overgrown forest path, through meadows, over darkening fields, skirting the edges of newly sprouting crops. The journey is not very long or winding. A gentle breeze blows, swaying the grass and tree branches. Axir limps, but his proud posture doesn't allow him to show himself as sick; he straightens his back and adjusts his fancy wide-brimmed hat adorned with a large green feather. Fam wears a linen shirt and brown leather breeches, with a small dagger hanging from his belt, wearing a knitted vest and a satchel slung over his shoulder. He seems to sniff the air as he pauses for a moment and looks up at the sky. "Crows, only crows, I say, that doesn't mean anything good," he mutters. When everything is too beautiful and peaceful, it doesn't always mean good. Excessive silence makes one anxious, like an ominous, mysterious beauty. His gaze is skeptical.

 

"BOOM-BOOM-BOOM."

They look at each other and shrug.

A strange sound that makes the treetops tremble and the ground slightly shake, a flock of birds rises into the air squawking. Almost deafening. The carpenter had heard this sound before, a few times in recent memory.

Downfield is a very small and quiet village; there is nothing here. Time-worn but well-kept buildings, a market for acquiring goods, and a place of worship. There are few people, and intrigue is rarely encountered. The laborers mainly fight after larger drinking bouts. There are no witches here, and they haven't been seen here either. The only healer in this land is the witch-monk Iiloi. But what does he know, the last attempt at herbal medicine went to the pigs, who suffered from stomach troubles afterwards. Nature knows everything and knows it best. When it's time to die, there's no help for it, you have to go. Making summer into winter is impossible, but when the snow starts falling, it's another miracle. So, rituals often take place - all for the sake of a good life and abundance.

"We never have rain here in Downfield," the locals say, "We have dew, that's why everything is green and lush here." Thunder was last heard behind the mountains, but it never reached here.

 

Fambrick the Carpenter  can show places he has built with his own hands. "Remember, Axir, when we carved those maple wood pillars for the sacred site and lifted them with a winch, remember how we dragged huge rocks to be cut into floors and walls, do you remember, my old friend," Fam finally tries to continue the conversation. His gaze drifts over the long pillars of the sacred site, which tower like masts from the ground into the sky, and he leans comfortably against one.

"Through hardship and suffering, with all our blood and sweat," Axir says bitterly, and he remembers that they were the first to arrive in Blueflower valley years ago. The three of them built the village as it is now, and thanks to them, the village came back to life. Pioneer Axir came first, broke through, trod the paths. He was looking for gold, and he did find some here in small amounts, collected it, dug it up, and put it in a big chest, which he later carried, loaded with mules, along the winding path to the city on the mountain. Then he came back here, because his soul remained here. He took Fambrick and Iiloi as his companions and traveled every winter like a tracking dog into oblivion, only to return in spring. But there was no more gold here; there was something else here. And Fam stayed here. He built. Left behind his beloved wife Fija and six children: Eeno, Ion, Aalo, Aen, Freid, and the youngest Hen. "They'll come to join me here sooner or later," he comforted himself some evenings. Even the priest-monk Iiloi stayed in one place, spent time getting to know nature and the forest, poisoning himself with various plants. They didn't expect him back anymore, so he stayed and trod the forest paths.

 

"That was the time when we skinned a rabbit in the woods," Fam says.

"I don't remember," Axir responds.

"We threw it on the coals and waited," Fambrich daydreams and still leans on the long maple wood pillar.

"Well, I don't remember; I've been having a hard time with my memory lately," Axir shrugs.

"We had been tramping in the swamp for a long time; our vision was already black, and it was the last straw in the pouch," says Fambrich and continues, "You wanted to marry me off with a shotgun, do you remember?" He points to a small scar on his belly. "You were angry, your eyes were wild."

"Will-o'-the-wisps in the fog saved me."

"That was indeed lucky. When we arrived in the village, we drank in the tavern right here, and you stole my last gold coins to go gambling," Axir says bitterly.

"Hehehe, I really don't remember anything from that night," a mischievous laugh comes from Fam's mouth.

"Iiloi saved your skin that time, as he did for you repeatedly."

"He got in the way by accident; that's what saved me."

"And the taste of that roasted rabbit comes back to me, and those sapphires, let Elfroin, the old boar, release the taps," Fambrick the Carpenter rubs his hands together.