#Springtide Harvest

[breelandwalker]

Pink Moon - April 12 2025

Prepare for the blooming season and make sure you take those allergy meds - it’s time for the Pink Moon!

Pink Moon 🌸

Named for the appearance of spring flowers, in particular the early springtide ground phlox (also known as moss pinks), the Pink Moon often coincides with the first bloom of the season, with trees and fields in flower and a profusion of color returning to the world after the long bleak greyness of winter. Despite the name, the moon itself does not turn pink to match.

This year, the Pink Moon is a micromoon, occurring when the moon is approaching it's apogee, the farthest point in its' orbit from the Earth. The moon may appear slightly smaller or dimmer because of this when it reaches peak illumination at 8:22pm EST this Saturday.

North American indigenous names for this moon include Breaking Ice Moon (Algonquin), Budding Moon of Plants and Shrubs (Tlingit), Moon When The Ducks Come Back (Lakota), Planting Moon (Tunica), and Frog Moon (Cree). Alternate European names for the Pink Moon include Egg Moon and Budding Moon, and some modern pagan traditions call it the Awakening Moon.

The April full moon is also sometimes known as the Paschal Full Moon, being the first full moon after the spring equinox. The Christian Easter holiday, which has a floating date, occurs on the first Sunday after the Paschal Moon.

Farmer’s Proverb: A full Moon in April brings frost. If the full Moon rises pale, expect rain.

What Does It Mean For Witches? 🌸

The Pink Moon is a time for reconnecting with yourself and the world around you. The world is giving a good yawn and stretch after a long winter’s sleep and so can we! Get outside if you can and get some fresh air. Explore your area, especially if there’s something or someplace new you’ve been meaning to try. Revisit old haunts and discover what’s changed since the last time you were out and about.

Take a moment to assess your current goals and mark your progress. Celebrate your growth and learn from your setbacks. Assess your boundaries as well. Are you making enough time for yourself? Are you letting things or tasks or people intrude where they shouldn’t? Is there anywhere that you should be standing firm but aren’t?

Balance dedication to your work with playtime and relaxation. Remember that you are not required to set yourself on fire to keep others warm. Take time to care for your own needs and address those “I’m Sure It’s Nothing” health concerns you’ve been putting off.

What Witchy Things Can We Do? 🌸

By the time the Pink Moon comes around, there’s either one more cold spell working its’ way through or the first true warmth of spring beginning to appear. If the temperatures are rising to sunny pleasantry in your area, it’s the perfect time to start planting your garden.

Whether you have a few pots on a patio or a fully-planned plot or just some well-beloved houseplants, get your fingers into the dirt and transfer those seeds and sprouts to a nice fertile home. You can work various kinds of magic as you do, for growth, fertility, prosperity, tenacity, resilience, protection, whatever seems needful. (This can also be done separate from planting if you're not growing a garden.) If you grow your own plants for your magical practice, you can also bless them for their intended purposes.

If you don’t garden (and not all of us do) but still want to work some plant magic, you can grab your field guide and pruning scissors and go foraging. You can pair last month's Dig Through The Ditches exercise with some foraging and harvesting of the wild weeds growing in your area.

(This month's episode of Hex Positive addresses this exact topic!)

For a fun and easy full-moon spell, set out some gallon jugs of potable water to make Pink Moon Water. This will be excellent for watering your garden…and yourself! (Rainwater isn’t safe to drink these days, and water collected from wild sources is dicey even if you boil it, but drinking water works just fine.) You can also cast spells for creativity, change, fertility, happiness, adaptability, and growth. Use whatever methods resonate with you and remember that the most important component of any spell is the witch who casts it.

The earth is blooming, so let’s bloom with it!

Happy Pink Moon, witches! 🌕🌸

2025 Witches Calendar

Bree’s Lunar Calendar Series

Bree’s Secular Celebrations Series

Pink Moon Magic: The Thrilling Full Moon of April 2025, The Peculiar Brunette.

Pink Moon: Full Micromoon of April 2025, The Old Farmers Almanac.

Witchcraft Exercise - Dig Through The Ditches, Bree NicGarran.

Wild Weed Harvests, Bree NicGarran.

Easter and the Paschal Full Moon: Determining the Date of Easter, The Old Farmer’s Almanac.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

Image Source: NY Post, April 2024.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[aurorianwyn]

The Empty Vessel

Once crowned in roses, thrice-blessed in rite,

I bore beltane’s garland ’neath the springtide light;

A queen not wrought of gold thread or mirth,

But of dampened soil & the weary earth.

A year & a day I wore the sacred name,

In silence yoked to an unkind flame;

They hailed my form, yet turned away their gaze,

As I wandered aimlessly through their spiritual maze.

O steward, lady of the fertile shore,

Thou who opened, then barred, the door,

Didst thou miss the thorns within thine hand,

When thou didst prune me from the festal band?

Thy voice, once kind, became a scourging bell,

A chime of scorn in the sacred dell.

Where was my seat ‘neath the bough and vine?

Why was my chalice last to sup the wine?

No counsel called me, no circle sought,

But all my marrow the harvest brought.

They plucked my blossom, then snapped my stem,

Sowed me with silence, made me, “one of them”.

I, the hallowed priestess, kneel to a soil-bound tomb,

Too tired to rise, too proud to bloom.

Left an empty vessel; drained, unpraised, & unsung,

Where once the hymns of Beltane rung.

Now cold & cracked, I lie in sacred dust,

My spirit shattered; my crown gone to rust.

Let moss enrobe me, leaf & loam my shroud,

I seek no laurel, nor speak aloud.

May the soil consume what joy once dwelled,

Where love was hoarded & wrath withheld.

Take back thy fire, O sun-ruled days,

I yield to shade & shadowed haze.

A hallowed priestess, left in embers, devoid of flame,

I vanish faceless, without a name.

Yet, should the roots & my bones entwine,

Know I gave all that was once divine.

Though I rot forgotten, ‘neath silent, weeping stone,

The land remembers what was overthrown.

[wysiwyg-wizards]

Halfling Dale Guide – Route 8, Patty Appleton

This guide will tell you everything you need to know about the Patty route. This a nice and easy route: there are no hard stat requirements, no failure state, and no opportunities to leave the route once you’re on it. This route also offers the opportunity to romance Patty.

Act 2 – The Harvest Festival

Like most of the other routes you join the Patty Route in Act 2.  After the festival is over and the bonfire has begun there will be a World Splitting choice where you must choose:

                #A friend. One who doesn't mind if I'm respectable or not.

And then:

                #Patty Appleton; she's the only other halfling standing alone, maybe we could stand alone together?

Character Choice:

                #My job doesn't go to sleep in winter like yours does, so I still have plenty to do. (only available if PC job is Tailor or Goldsmith) – minor boost to industrious.

                #Nothing really; I rest, and wait for spring. – minor boost to frolicsome.

                #Astronomy sounds interesting, maybe I should learn some too. – minor boost to wise and Patty relationship.

                #I haven't had much time for my hobby recently. I think I'd like to indulge it. (only available is PC hobby is Gourmet, Story Teller, Whittler, Knitter, Connoisseur of pipe weed, or Go Player) – minor boost to industrious and Patty relationship

Act 3 - Autumn turns to Winter

Character Choice:

                #Introduce yourself in proper halfling fashion. – minor boost to sophisticated and Patty relationship.

                #Let Patty introduce you. – minor boost to sensible.

Character Choice:

                #I want to try the food! – minor boost to sensible.

                #I want to try the drink. – minor boost to mischievous.

                #I want to talk to them and see what they're like. – minor boost to imaginative and Patty relationship.

Act 4 – Yule Night

There are no hard requirements for route 8 in this Act. You can see Patty at the Town Hall or spend the evening at your home hole and invite Patty. Either way you will exchange gifts.

Act 5 – The Springtide Fair

Again there are no requirements for Route 7 here. However if you want to spend as much time with Patty as possible then you should: hook a duck at the fair, and join the caber toss in the afternoon.

When it’s time for the dance in the evening you will get a unique scene with this Character Choice:

                #We aren't a couple right now, but I'd like us to be. – minor boost to honest and Patty relationship. Will start the Patty romance.

                #Does Patty want us to be together? – minor boost to practical-minded. Leads to Character Choice: #I like Patty, but I'm too embarrassed to admit it. What if she doesn't feel the same way? – minor boost to sensible, and will start the Patty romance. #I think if Patty wanted romance she would know; we're obviously not right for each other. – minor boost to wise. #We're just friends who spend a lot of time together - that's all. – minor boost to honest and Patty relationship.

Act 6 - Summer begins to Bloom

Character Choice:

                #Weigh in on the argument - of course witches exist. – minor boost to mischievous and Patty relationship.

                #Of course fairies are real, even babies know that. – minor boost to imaginative and Patty relationship.

                #Stay quiet, and see where this is going. – minor boost to practical-minded.

Character Choice:

                #I'm not letting these little goblins bother Patty, I send them away with a good ticking off. – minor boost to practical-minded.

                #Ask Patty what to do about this, it is her home after all. – minor boost to sophisticated and Patty relationship.

                #Offer to help the children discover the truth of Patty Appleton. – minor boost to mischievous, moderate boost to Patty relationship.

Character Choice:

                #I'm not taking part in this silliness, I'll watch. – minor boost to sophisticated.

                #I'll be a fellow witch, I have an excellent cackle. -minor boost to frolicsome and Patty relationship.

                #I'll be a bound and gagged victim! – minor boost to imaginative, moderate boost to Patty relationship.

                #I'll be Patty's servile and terrified lackey. – minor boost to happy-go-lucky and Patty relationship.

Character Choice:

                #I haven't asked because it doesn't matter to me. – minor boost to happy-go-lucky, moderate to Patty relationship.

                #Yes, I would hate to hurt your feelings. – minor boost to sensible and Patty relationship.

                #Yes, it would have been unforgivably rude. – minor boost to sophisticated.

                #I haven't asked because it hasn't come up. – minor boost to well-meaning and Patty relationship.

Character Choice:

                #Do you still want to find your family? – minor boost to bold and Patty relationship.

                #I'm a bit suspicious of Amirië, I think the elves have something to do with this. ��� minor boost to wise and Patty relationship.

                #Wow, what a romantic story! – minor boost to imaginative.

                #Thanks for telling me, Patty. – minor boost to honest, moderate boost to Patty relationship.

Act 7 - Another Birthday Arrives

Character Choice:

                #I'm so happy, what a wonderful gift! – minor boost to happy-go-lucky. Leads to stat-dependent split: *if Patty is a friend then no effect. *otherwise if you are romancing Patty it leads to this Character Choice: #That I'm going to marry you one day. – minor boost to honest. #About our fun sleepovers. – minor boost to happy-go-lucky.

                #It's a lovely thought, but I can't accept this. – minor boost to sophisticated.

Keep an eye out for next week's guide: Route 9 - Cousin Sissy.

[revenant-coining]

Season themed names?

here ya go:

Spring: Bloom, Flora/Floral, Springtime, Springtide, Flos, Florere, Floralis, and Florens

Summer: Summer, Summertime, Midsummer, Daylight, Sunny, Summertide, Solstice, Aestas, Aestiva, Calor, Solis, Sol, Serenum, and Lux

Autumn: Pumpkin, Foliage, Harvest, Equinox, Autumna, Folium, and Messis

Winter: Wonderland, Wintertime, Wintertide, Hiems, Nix, Gelu, Coryza, and Mirabilis

[ch40ssp1r4lz]

There stand a tree in mine foreyard. Ill of health it was, when first we came upon this land to make it home. Yet with mine own hand I did nurse it, and in time, it did quicken. 'Tis this tree I hath chosen for mine worship. I climb its limbs, and its branches clasp me close, as though I were kin.

In the springtide, it gift blossoms; in the harvest-time, it shed golden leaves. Summer brought forth fruit, and winter bid it slumber deep. A tree is a gift unceasing if thou take time and tender with one, thou shalt uncover joy, quiet and deep, nestled 'neath its roots.

[thenerdynarrative]

A coming of age, quest-based fantasy adventure about a young man, Haskell, as he sets out to build a legacy like that of his grandfather.

🌟🌟🌟🌟

[autodaemonium]

ʒzəeoðsrttʃnɪtɛɑisəʌo

Pronounced: zzuheothsrttshnitayahisuhuo.

Pantheon of: sacredness, chemical element, workaholism, proportion, imperceptibility, divisibility, inadvisability, posturing, accuracy, conflict.

Entities

Bdwaʊmænaɪwaɪsɛɪnwrzvrɛ

Pronounced: bdwowmanaiwaisayinwrzvray Chemical Element: ununhexium. Accuracy: exactness. Divisibility: fissiparity. Sacredness: holy of holies. Conflict: clash. Legends: unknown quantity, convention, softball, visit, fakery. Prophecies: fishing, apostasy, homeopathy, electron microscopy. Relations: yətwðəmeæɪuəʌtəðwɪem (asparagine), ldrælrmltnwæɪttʃgəətn (histaminase), ɛltʊðmwsvfnkəðdʌouɪə (ski wax), dʒnətsrdəwmɪŋðesdtɪə (cola).

Dhtɑlrsəlmɛsʌərrɪgtʃv

Pronounced: dhtahlrsuhlmaysuuhrrigtshv Chemical Element: neon. Accuracy: fidelity. Divisibility: fissiparity. Sacredness: holy of holies. Conflict: clash. Prophecies: squash.

Dʒnətsrdəwmɪŋðesdtɪə

Pronounced: jnuhtsrduhwmingthesdtiuh Chemical Element: xenon. Accuracy: exactness. Divisibility: fissiparity. Sacredness: holy of holies. Conflict: clash. Legends: sigh, loosening. Prophecies: spin, sleep deprivation.

Ksðθnziyəəmrntʃɪyriŋɪ

Pronounced: ksththnziyuhuhmrntshiyringi Chemical Element: lawrencium. Accuracy: fidelity. Divisibility: fissiparity. Sacredness: holy of holies. Conflict: clash. Legends: deactivation, church service, luxation, heimlich maneuver. Prophecies: sightseeing. Relations: yətwðəmeæɪuəʌtəðwɪem (sharing), uwnɪvɛrtɪmowɪwʊrənət (corticosterone), twmðæztɛɒiɪaɪəmkbəmwk (linolenic acid).

Ldrælrmltnwæɪttʃgəətn

Pronounced: ldralrmltnwaittshguhuhtn Chemical Element: transactinide. Accuracy: fidelity. Divisibility: fissiparity. Sacredness: holy of holies. Conflict: clash. Legends: supplanting, concurrence. Prophecies: underpayment, standing operating procedure. Relations: dhtɑlrsəlmɛsʌərrɪgtʃv (orangewood), ɛltʊðmwsvfnkəðdʌouɪə (bilabial), yətwðəmeæɪuəʌtəðwɪem (hematochrome).

Nndəsɪbɑnnznrðmrkmnk

Pronounced: nnduhsibahnnznrthmrkmnk Chemical Element: allotrope. Accuracy: exactness. Divisibility: fissiparity. Sacredness: holy of holies. Conflict: disagreement. Legends: horse breeding, flux, deference, skiing, steel production. Prophecies: springtide, hemodialysis. Relations: yətwðəmeæɪuəʌtəðwɪem (blood clot), ksðθnziyəəmrntʃɪyriŋɪ (context), twmðæztɛɒiɪaɪəmkbəmwk (koumiss).

Twmðæztɛɒiɪaɪəmkbəmwk

Pronounced: twmthaztayouiiaiuhmkbuhmwk Chemical Element: neon. Accuracy: exactness. Divisibility: fissiparity. Sacredness: holy of holies. Conflict: clash. Legends: coursework, animal husbandry. Prophecies: matrix operation. Relations: bdwaʊmænaɪwaɪsɛɪnwrzvrɛ (greek fire), ɛltʊðmwsvfnkəðdʌouɪə (leaf), ksðθnziyəəmrntʃɪyriŋɪ (plantation).

Uwnɪvɛrtɪmowɪwʊrənət

Pronounced: uwnivayrtimowiwooruhnuht Chemical Element: germanium. Accuracy: exactness. Divisibility: fissiparity. Sacredness: holy of holies. Conflict: disagreement. Legends: smack, withdrawal, gouge. Relations: dʒnətsrdəwmɪŋðesdtɪə (ormolu).

Yətwðəmeæɪuəʌtəðwɪem

Pronounced: yuhtwthuhmeaiuuhutuhthwiem Chemical Element: plutonium. Accuracy: exactness. Divisibility: fissiparity. Sacredness: holy of holies. Conflict: clash. Legends: dental practice, battle damage, risk arbitrage. Prophecies: attainment, comeback. Relations: bdwaʊmænaɪwaɪsɛɪnwrzvrɛ (charcoal), ldrælrmltnwæɪttʃgəətn (carboxymethyl cellulose), ksðθnziyəəmrntʃɪyriŋɪ (counterstain), twmðæztɛɒiɪaɪəmkbəmwk (yardage).

Ɛltʊðmwsvfnkəðdʌouɪə

Pronounced: ayltoothmwsvfnkuhthduouiuh Chemical Element: radon. Accuracy: exactness. Divisibility: fissiparity. Sacredness: holy of holies. Conflict: disagreement. Prophecies: vocal music, harvest. Relations: dʒnətsrdəwmɪŋðesdtɪə (accession), dhtɑlrsəlmɛsʌərrɪgtʃv (collective noun), bdwaʊmænaɪwaɪsɛɪnwrzvrɛ (nitride).

[foodandbeverages]

Commercial Seaweed Market Earnings Margins, Value Of Production & Consumption Demand Figures 2023-2033

The Commercial Seaweed Market is experiencing robust growth and is poised to revolutionize various industries worldwide. Seaweed, also known as marine algae, offers a treasure trove of possibilities due to its rich nutritional profile, eco-friendly cultivation, and diverse applications.

The commercial seaweed market size is estimated to be nearly US$ 11.7 Billion in 2023. The global market is poised to register a CAGR of 2.4% from 2023 to 2033. The overall valuation of the commercial seaweed market is projected to reach US$ 14.9 Billion by 2033.

A modest amount of companies dominate the worldwide sales and distribution of commercial seaweed at the present time. Commercial seaweed is broadly produced near the coastlines of nations like Indonesia, China, Japan, and the Philippines.

Want to stay ahead in the Commercial Seaweed Market? Access our detailed PDF report and gain a competitive edge in this thriving industry: https://www.futuremarketinsights.com/reports/sample/rep-gb-17000

According to the FMI report, the primary region for the production and marketing of seaweed commercially is the Asia Pacific. Because of the traditional importance of seaweeds, these countries have established a commercial market for all types of seaweed.

With the rising popularity of organic goods in Europe and North America, the demand for commercial seaweed is expected to grow considerably.

Seaweed usage across the globe is getting further aided by the growing popular movement toward vegan meals and plant-based proteins. Further with the advancement of agricultural practices, the creation of new strains, and the expansion of its applications the seaweed business now offers great potential.

Key Takeaways:

China     is the leading country in the production of a wide variety of seaweed,     followed by Japan and the Republic of Korea. The net worth of the Chinese     commercial seaweed market crossed US$ 10 Billion in 2022.

Commercial     seaweed production and usage are expected to rise with the trend of     vegetarianism in the United States.

In     comparison to other geographic regions, the European seaweed market is     anticipated to have consistent expansion through 2033.

Due     to its broad geographic range having several maritime domains, the South     American market is predicted to have significant growth through 2033.

Competitive Landscape:

Wild Irish Seaweeds, Acadian SeaPlus, Organic Irish Seaweed-Emerald Isle, KwangcheonKIm, Cascadia Seaweed, Ocean Rainforest, Springtide Seaweed, LLC, BLUE EVOLUTION, Earaybio, Kai Ho “Oceans Treasure”, Aushadh Limited., BY VIET DELTA, Shore Seaweed, ALGOLESKO, Raw Seaweeds, Cargill, Incorporated, AtSeaNova, Kelp Industries Pty, Ltd., Maine Coast Sea Vegetables, MARA SEAWEED, Marcel Carrageenan, Pacific Harvest, Seaweed Solutions AS, The Seaweed Company, Irish Seaweeds are some big players in the global Commercial seaweed market. Most commercial seaweed producers are engaged in many strategic efforts, including, collaborations, regional growth, and production capacity expansion.

Arcadian Seaplants Ltd. stated in March 2021 it was going to expand Deveau Center’s manufacturing capacity by 2X. The market positions of leading players are anticipated to be strengthened by regional expansion, ultimately increasing the source of raw materials.

Recent Developments by the Commercial Seaweed Industries:

A     global distributor of chemicals and ingredients named Univar Solutions     established a partnership with Scotland-based Seaweed & Co. in July     2019. It aims to broaden its product offering with unique seaweed     components that meet the needs of contemporary consumers in terms of     sustainability.

Cargill     Inc. introduced a new type of seaweed powder in February 2021 that was     derived from red seaweed called Gracilaria, commonly produced in Europe.     WavePure ADG 8250 is the name of the product, which is part of the     WavePure ADG series. Due to its ability to provide a creamy and smooth     texture, it is mostly employed in the production of dairy products.

In     August 2019, CP Kelco Company increased the amount of gellan gum it could     produce at its Oklahoma seaweed processing facility. The business hopes to     address the growing demand for adaptable, multipurpose ingredients     required for gellan gum in the State. The firm also aims to have a greater     opportunity to provide and increase its market share in the food and     beverage sector.

Key Segments Covered by Commercial Seaweed Industry Survey Report

Commercial Seaweed Industry by Product Type:

Red     Seaweed

Green     Seaweed

Brown     Seaweed

Other     Types

Commercial Seaweed Industry by Form:

Leaf

Powdered

Flakes

Liquid

Commercial Seaweed Industry by Application:

Agriculture     Fertilizer

Animal     Feed Additives

Human     Consumption

Pharmaceuticals

Cosmetics     and Personal Care

Biofuels

Bio     Plastics

Textiles

Waste     Water Treatment

Hydrocolloids

Other     Applications

Commercial Seaweed Industry by Region:

North     America Market

Latin     America Market

Europe     Market

East     Asia Market

South     Asia and Pacific Market

The     Middle East and Africa (MEA) Market

Get full Report@ https://www.futuremarketinsights.com/reports/commercial-seaweed-market

[fazilareads]

A Quest Style Coming-Of-Age Fantasy !! Springtide Harvest By JD Mitchell | Book Review

A Quest Style Coming-Of-Age Fantasy !! Springtide Harvest By JD Mitchell | Book Review

TITLE : Springtide Harvest AUTHOR : JD Mitchell GENRE : Fantasy, Sword And Sorcery Intended Age Group: Adult Pages: 418 DATE OF PUBLISHING : August 22, 2022 SYNOPSIS The old world is dead. Worse, it was a lie. Haskell yearns to be a warrior like his grandfather, who broke the orcish hordes, not the unwanted son of a ruthless High City merchant. With nothing but a bag of stolen coin and…

[feelinsheepish]

🐏🐏🐏🐏!!!

Send me a 🐑 for a sheeptaur fact? :) [accepting]

There are only a handful of sheeptaurs that actually possess magic actively and even if they do, it is very weak and the best way to use it successfully is to preform the same spell together. But their spells are limited mostly to healing and giving life to the crops and plants they need.

Males DO fight each other for the right to 'mate'... Though its more of a test of strength to show a female what they are really capable of and to prove they are able to protect and provide strong offspring. Its not so simple as 'look how strong i am' and 'oh we are a couple now' though, there obviously has to be some chemistry there already. The ramming season is more due to heat and rut.

The sheeptaurs have three major holidays throughout the year and they all celebrate the turning of seasons. Springtide, The Grand Harvest and Wintertide. These celebrations are usually spent singing songs and celebrating nature and the gifts they have, they also give thanks to Akun and wear whats considered to be festive for the season. AKA flower crowns for Spring, berries and leaves for Harvest etc etc

The village is very communal, everyone knows each other to a point where most people are considered as cousins, uncles and aunts even if they aren't blood related. The love for each other is what keeps them strong.

[theaggresivepacifist]

and you, my oldest friend

For the lovely @thegoldensoundtwice, based on this amazing post.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Since I moved home from college in May, I’ve kind of lost contact with a lot of good friends and colleagues, and your amazing blog has been a little bit like having a friend to chat with – especially about the wonderful world of Redwall. Even though we don’t really know each other, your kindness, sense of humor, and incredible eloquence (I will NEVER be over the fic you wrote for me!!!) has been such a gift, and so instead of studying for the GRE I wanted to write you this tale as an early Christmas present and a heartfelt thank-you. Surprise!!!

It is un-beta’d, massive af (I think almost 7K words, so let me know if you’d like a .pdf!), and a tad bit angstier than I was going for at first, but hopefully still an entertaining yarn.

Cheers!!!

It was a glorious midsummer’s evening when she saw Redwall Abbey for the first time.

Her grandfather, a silver-furred old badger named Buckthorn, had told her stories about it, of course, promising to take her there the next time they held one of their fabled feastdays. He was a good storyteller, perhaps the best in Mossflower. But even he couldn’t do it justice.

The Abbey stood tall and proud and majestic at the border of the woodlands, battlements and belltower of ruddy sandstone soaring to the sky. The setting sun gilded the myriad ivy leaves that crept across the stone, turned the climbing roses to an incandescent shade of ruby red. The broad main gates stood open to all comers, and inside she could see colored lanterns glowing in the branches of the trees, reflecting in swirls of red and yellow on the surface of a tranquil pond.

Constance had never before seen anything quite so beautiful.

  A motely group of squirrels, mice, hedgehogs, otters and moles welcomed them to table at once, as if they were old friends, and loaded their plates with the most delicious-looking foods a creature could imagine: breads and cheeses, salads and pasties, puddings and berries and flans. All of them were talking at the same time.

“Welcome, both of you! You look famished! Here, this plum cake goes perfect with clotted cream.”

“How about some of this hotroot soup?”

“Don’t be shy, take a few more of these nunnymolers.”

They were given places of honor at a table of Abbey Brothers and Sisters, pleasant mice in cowled brown robes.  Being  rather solitary by nature, Constance spoke with them only when spoken to, preferring to let her grandfather hold the conversation. She devoted the rest of her attention to eating serving after serving of the scrumptious food and watching the other jolly creatures with interest.

As supper was winding down, with everyone sipping their favorite drinks and nibbling at their favorite sweets, some of the woodland guests, the two badgers included, took it upon themselves to provide entertainment for their kindly hosts. A troupe of voles played reels and jigs on a battered bodhran and sweet-toned reed flutes; a family of harvest mice performed several comedic skits. But Constance and Buckthorn’s act was the most anticipated of the evening. Many Redwallers had never even seen a badger in the fur before, as old Mara, Redwall’s last badger mother, had gone to her rest many seasons ago. The pair of them performed feats of marksmanship with yew longbows, and Constance obligingly wrestled stout waterhogs and burly otter champions, shaking them off like raindrops as the Redwallers shouted words of advice and encouragement.

“That’s the stuff, missie!”

“Hohoho, ole Skip’ll be sore for a full season!”

“Hurr, moind the choild don’t toss ’im into yon pudden!”

She enjoyed the competition, the adrenaline, the feeling of her own strength. The attention was slightly overwhelming. Having humored her hosts, she left her grandfather deep in conversation with old Abbot Cedric and slunk off to the orchards with a pawful of mushroom and leek turnovers, throwing herself down on the cool grass to eat. The night air was velvety-soft, sweet with the perfume of rose and blackberry and late blossoms, and she snuffed appreciatively at it between bites of savory pastry.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” said a quiet voice, surprisingly close at paw.

Constance bristled slightly, but then relaxed when she spotted the creature, resting against the trunk of a neighboring plum tree. He was just a young mouse, dusky brown, wearing the sandals and sage-green habit of a novice. His eyes were wise and kind.

“I always like to come here in the evenings,” he continued. “It’s nice to sit and watch the sun set over the Abbey. And it’s especially nice to be surrounded by all these good creatures, and hear them laughing and enjoying the feast.”

“I live with my grandfather in Mossflower. I’ve never seen so many creatures all at once,” Constance said. It was unlike her to admit something like that to a strangebeast, but the mouse’s gentle manner somehow put her at ease.

“Do you have many friends in Mossflower?”

“Not really.”

“Well, now you’ve got lots of them here.”

Constance had to smile at that. She extended a broad black paw and gave his a gingerly shake.

“I’m Constance. Pleased to make your acquaintance, friend.”

The mouse made a grave gesture in return, bowing his head over his own folded paws.

“My name is Mortimer,” he said.

  By the end of the feast Mortimer and Constance were inseparable; the one’s serious nature perfectly complemented the other’s slight shyness. When she and her grandfather returned for the autumn harvest he showed her around the interior of the Abbey: the dizzying height of the belltower, the best places to sit in Great Hall, the labyrinthine aisles of the cellars where their resident Cellarhog kept special firkins of mulled wine and flowery mead.

Of course, they were both still young creatures, so these sights were soon followed by a tour of the spookiest corners of the attic, the hallways with the best curtains to shelter behind during games of hide-and-seek, and the kitchen larders that held the best snacks. They played in the crisp autumn leaves and dared each other to step paw in the icy pond. He also introduced her to Martin the Warrior, explaining the legend to her as she gazed, transfixed, at the richly embroidered tapestry.

“A mouse fighting a wildcat,” she marveled aloud. “I can’t wait to tell my granddad about this.”

“I thought you’d like to know about Martin,” said Mortimer. “He was brave and strong like you.”

“And then a mouse of peace, like you,” she replied thoughtfully.

  Buckthorn was growing too old to make the journey to Redwall as often as Constance would have liked, and so in the springtide she argued and pleaded with him until, finally, he gave her permission to make the trip on her own. She woke well before dawn, packed a generous haversack of supplies, and set out through the woodlands at a steady pace, already full of excitement for the day she had planned. The miles passed swiftly. She arrived at the Abbey by midmorning, just as the Redwallers were finishing their breakfast, and stealthily motioned for Mortimer to leave Great Hall and join her in the orchard. He was thrilled by the surprise, but also full of questions.

“Why are you being so secretive? Where’s your grandfather? How in the name of seasons did you get here so early?”

“I’m here to take you on an adventure,” she told him in a stage whisper. “Think you can sneak out to Mossflower for the day?”

“I’m not sure I’m allowed,” said Mortimer. “I have to help with the washing for the dormitories and –”

“Come on! I’ve been to Redwall lots of times, now you should see where I live. Just tell them you can’t do it! Make something up!”

“I’ll try. Wait here.”

He disappeared for several minutes, leaving Constance to sample some of the early gooseberries. Finally he returned with a subdued expression and a heavy green travelling cloak draped over his Redwall habit.

“I told Brother Oswin I was gathering herbs for the infirmary,” he said, already self-reproachful.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be a fib. We can find some on the way back.”

He cheered up as soon as they set paw in the emerald forest, where new leaves were budding and a kaleidoscope of varicolored wildflowers were blooming. He had never been so far into Mossflower Wood before. Constance named the many birds for him by their plumage and their dulcet voices, and Mortimer paused often to admire fuzzy bumblebees and jewel-toned dragonflies, or flitting butterflies with wings like stained glass.

After a few hours’ march they sat down on the riverbank to rest, shaded by the boughs of an ancient willow. Mortimer said a simple grace over their midday meal. Constance watched the way his eyes closed, his shoulders relaxed, his paws steepled.

“What is it like, being in the Order?” she asked him, around a mouthful of strawberry preserves.

“Well, there’s a lot of book learning.” He brushed oatcake crumbs from his lap and cut a wedge of yellow cheese studded with hazelnuts, whiskers twitching thoughtfully. “Lots of history. We learn about the founders of Redwall and where they came from, and about the rules and vows that all Abbeymice live by. But our most important duty is to provide help and healing and charity to any creature in need of our assistance. Just a few days ago there was a poor weasel with a racking cough –”

“You mean you let vermin into the Abbey?” Constance interrupted.

“He was an honest creature. Sister Teazle and I made him a draught of strong herbs. He was as good as new by the next morning, and gave us some beautiful mussel shells in token of his thanks.”

“He probably came by those while he was off pirating at sea,” she replied dryly. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you can’t trust just anyone. There are a lot of dishonest creatures who would try to take advantage, even here in Mossflower. We’ve had quite a few brushes with robber foxes and ferrets.”

“Trust them or not, my duty is to help them if they require it,” Mortimer said patiently. “But I suppose it’s safer living at Redwall than out here in the forest.”

“I don’t know. It’s not so bad.”

“Oh dear, I didn’t mean it that way at all, truly. Mossflower is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. I think I could stay here by the riverside forever.”

“Well, I think Redwall’s got to be the best place I’ve ever seen,” said Constance, pleased by her friend’s compliment.

“Who knows! Maybe you could come and live there someday.”

  After luncheon they crossed the stream, picking a careful path over the slippery stones, and made their way at last to at the badgers’ cottage. It was a snug little house of smooth clay, built back against a rock shelf so that the soft-mossed surface served as the fourth and largest wall. Trailing nasturtiums wove over the doorway and windowsills, their flowers like bright medallions of orange and sun gold. Inside were tables and chairs of Buckthorn’s making, carved out of honey-colored wood, and little trinkets from his many travels: pressed mountain flowers, many-colored stones, bits of seaglass worn smooth as silk.

“It reminds me of our Cavern Hole at Redwall,” said Mortimer, his eyes aglow.

“A neighbor helped me to build this place, a clever old beaver, when I first came to this part of the woods.” Buckthorn straightened from stoking up the hearthfire. “That were when young Constance here was but a tiny badgermaid. Her gran was still with us then.”

“She must have planted that wonderful herb garden of yours.”

“Aye, that’s right. She was a healer like you are, y’know. There’s some rare plants growing there that might interest you.”

The old badger and the young mouse were kindred spirits. Over the course of the afternoon Buckthorn swapped stories with Mortimer and shared with him some of the badger lore that Constance had known since she was a cub, the workings of the tide and the secret phases of the moon, the way to sense the first changings of the season – even old fireside tales, like that of the great snow badger who brought deep winter to Mossflower Wood. Constance was just about to remind them that they needed to get back to the Abbey before nightfall when a sudden spring rain began to lash through the trees, obscuring the woodlands with a heavy sheet of silver.

“Not travelin’ weather, I’m afraid, young ’un,” said Buckthorn, shaking his grizzled head. “You’ll have to stay here for the night.”

“Oh, no,” Mortimer groaned. “I’m going to be in a lot of trouble when I get home.”

“Don’t worry. We can leave as soon as the sun rises,” said Constance, secretly ecstatic that the elements had intervened. “Let’s have a cup of tea, and then I’ll show you how to make a seafaring dish my granddad taught me. Skilly and duff!”

In the morning, as promised, they set out at a run with the first rays of dawn, slipping and squelching on the muddy road. Though they made it to the Abbey in record time, Mortimer’s prediction was soon proved correct. Brother Oswin was waiting for them at the gate with a face like yesterday’s thunder. Without hesitation he took hold of Mortimer’s habit sleeve and began lecturing the young mouse severely.

“We were up all night worrying about you. Abbot Cedric was about to send out a search party! And where in the fur is the sanicle and valerian you were supposed to be gathering?”

Constance blushed at the Brother’s righteous fury, beginning to feel sorry for the part she had played in the whole affair. But Mortimer, recalling the sleepless night they had spent telling tales and playing games while the rain drummed on the cottage roof, could only smile.

  For many happy seasons they visited back and forth in this way, growing up and growing ever closer, Constance trekking to the Abbey for feastdays and bringing Mortimer back to the cottage to enjoy languid spring and summer evenings by the riverside. She eventually taught him how to find his way through the woodlands unaccompanied by reading the signs of moss and leaves, and after much effort prevailed upon him to carry a stout ash staff with him on the road (“Someday I won’t be there, and you might have to defend yourself!”), though only because he decided he could use it as a walking stick.

Mortimer made his way to the den often in the winter days when Buckthorn’s health began to fail him, brewing soothing teas and medicines, keeping him company while Constance slept. When the old badger went to his final rest it was Mortimer who said the funeral service, tenderly placing a bundle of early quince on the grave Constance had hacked from frozen ground.

Several days had passed since then, and the two of them sat at table together, sharing a jug of blackcurrant wine to drive off the icy chill. Constance was red-eyed but composed.

“I was thinking of taking some time to myself. Travelling someplace new, like my granddad liked to do.”

“Outside of Mossflower?”

“Perhaps.” She drained the last dregs of her cup, set it carefully back down on the tabletop. “He told me a lot of stories about Salamandastron, the mountain of the fire lizard, where his father and brothers ruled. Maybe it’s time for me to pay a visit there.”

“But surely not until the springtide, friend.”

“No. No, I’ll wait until the snow melts.”  Seeking to reassure him, she gave Mortimer a tired smile. He had taken his final vows and now wore the wide-sleeved brown robe of an Abbey Brother, which made him look, if possible, more solemn than ever. “But the sooner the better. I don’t think I’m meant to spend the rest of my life as a farmer. You’ve already found your path, you old fogey, and I’m glad for you. I don’t have that yet.”

For a moment silence fell. It was an end and a beginning. They always had known it might come to this, but hoped it never would. 

“You’ll come back to us, won’t you?” Mortimer asked her.

“Of course I will.”

  ***

  It had been a long struggle across shifting sands, chilled and buffeted by the wind. Her mouth was full of grit and her paws stinging from the many tiny cuts left by jagged rocks and sharp blades of spiky sea grass. She was hungry and thirsty and weary to the bone.

But at last, after weeks of travel, the great mountain was in her sights.

A military hare in a buff-colored coat was waiting her at its base; curiously, he seemed to have been expecting her for some time. He swept off his jaunty feathered hat and made a low bow, to which she responded in kind.

“Is this Salamandastron, the mountain of the fire lizard?”

“The very place! And surely you must be the charming Lady Constance, daughter of Iris and Birchstripe, grand-niece to Lord Oakpaw the Valiant, eh wot! By the left! My pater’s pater served under your great uncle!”

“Just Constance, thank you,” she replied firmly, shaking his paw with a grip that made him wince.

“Just Constance, what an odd moniker! Right-o, I’ll give you the full tour. Please to jolly well follow me, madam!”

He led her upwards through a warren of stone corridors, grey and bleak, but fresh with bracing sea air and the tangy smell of salt and seaweed. He was chattering all the way.

“This, dear gel, is the ancestral home of badgers such as your good self, although it’s a few seasons since our valiant Lord went off questing after some wicked corsairs to the south—vile creatures, nasty tatty rats, all of ’em, need a lesson in cold steel. And so but a few of us gallant and handsome hares, such as myself, the humble Corporal Merriwether, remain here, guardin’ his domicile while he’s away, keep the home fires lit, so to speak. I’ll show you the common areas, dormitories and kitchens of course, the forge room, the terrace gardens, perchance even the entrance to the sacred jolly hall of badgers itself…but here’s the ticket, just the place to start. The mess hall!”

As they approached Constance could hear a commotion – at first what she thought was the sound of several creatures shouting, but then recognized as one creature doing three or four different voices, as the mood suited him. Corporal Merriwether sighed.

“That’ll be one of our new recruits. My apologies for the disturbance, marm.”

They rounded the corner and found themselves abruptly in the Salamandastron dining hall: brightly lit by westward-facing windows, with a crackling fire along one wall and long wooden tables and benches arranged in the center of the room. A slightly bucktoothed grey hare in regimental red was leaping and bounding from table to table, his long ears flopping comically about as he berated his lunching comrades, each of whom ignored him steadfastly. Constance had never in her life seen a creature behaving in such an outrageous manner.

“Cowards! Bounders! Fiends! Yah boo, ya rotters, I can outscoff any three of you with my paws behind me back, so there!”

“Steady in the ranks there! What’s all this about, you young terror?” barked the Corporal. The mad hare came smartly to attention and threw him a swift salute.

“Sah! Was simply interested in a little pie-scoffin’ competition, sah! First beast to finish their pie jolly well wins, sah!”

“You ’orrible animal, what on earth for?”

“Simply a spirit-raisin’ game, sah, fun for the troops, good for the morale, eh wot!”

“I could eat,” said Constance mildly, to general surprise. Several of the Long Patrol hares instinctively stood upon seeing the badger in their midst, and the red-coated hare made an elegant leg.

“By Jove! Honored to have such a worthy opponent, I’m sure! May we commence with the challenge, sah?”

The Corporal looked doubtful, but turned on his heel to shout in the direction of the kitchens.

“Oh, dash it all, if the badger Lady wants to humor the lower orders…Cook! A mushroom ’n’ tater pie for the young badgermiss, wot!”

Constance took a seat on a comfortable bench across from her challenger, who sat poised with wooden fork and knife hovering over a massive golden-crusted pie. In a twinkling a stout hare came hurrying over to place before her a pie of similar size, tugging respectfully at one of his ears.

“With the compliments of me goodself, Cook an’ Colonel Puffscut, marm. Rules for a Long Patrol scoffin’ competition are simple: on the count of three, start eatin’. First beast to finish their plate’s the winnah. One…two…three!”

Without further ado the hare across the table began shoveling down forkfuls of pie, gravy dripping from the corners of his mouth. All eyes were on Constance, who in turn was watching her challenger with great amusement. She waited until he had almost finished his portion before locking eyes with him, opening her massive jaws, and wedging the entire pie into her mouth. After three leisurely chews and a draught of nettle beer she swallowed and shrugged at him, wiping her paws fastidiously on a napkin.

“What was that you were saying about outscoffing three creatures at once?”

There was a smattering of applause from the Long Patrol hares, most of whom were glad to see their eccentric comrade taken down a peg.

“Good show, marm!” the strange creature cried sportingly, still covered in mushroom gravy, as he extended a paw for her to shake. “The name’s Basil Stag Hare, doncha know. I think we two fellow faminechops would make awfully good pals!”

“I certainly ’ope not,” the Corporal remarked despairingly to the Colonel. Constance had to hide a sudden grin.

  She soon fit in at the mountain fortress: she was a badger in her prime. The hares kitted her up with a runner’s pack and sling, and she took to galloping alongside the patrols in daylight, telling jokes and gulping nutbrown ale by firesides at night. She spent hours in the forge room, smashing metal into arrowheads and sword blades, although she still preferred a simple javelin or the strength of her own limbs above all else. Basil, the renowned, if ridiculous, fur ’n’ foot fighter, taught her to box, a pursuit in which she excelled. A single right cross from one of her massive paws was enough to lay low a ferret or stoat (or once, by accident, an unprepared Lieutenant Swiftscut) for half a season.

A few of her most impressive feats became the stuff of legends in later days, such as the time when Basil convinced her to skip kitchen duty for an unauthorized day of leisure on the shore. It was a baking-hot summer’s morn, and they had unbelted their weapons so that they could swim in the cool green sea. They then sat wolfing down purloined fruit salad and honeyed damson tartlets, using a massive chunk of driftwood – perhaps the wreckage of a lost corsair ship – as a table. It was the badger who heard the approaching pawsteps first, and turned to see two weasels and a fox trying to sneak towards them, toying with their bladehilts.

“I say, chaps,” Basil said, feigning indignance. “This is a private party, d’you mind?”

“Shaddup, rabbit!” snarled the fox. “Don’t try to go fer yer weapons, they’re too far. Wot kind of vittles have ye got there?”

“Oh, a smidgen of this, a smidgen of that. ’Fraid there’s not enough left to share.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Hand ’em over, or I’ll gut ye!”

With eye-blurring speed the fox drew his rusted cutlass and slashed at the air a hairsbreadth in front of Basil. The hare sidestepped and moved swiftly to stop him, but Constance was faster. With a mighty heave and a sky-shattering roar she levered their picnic table out of the sand, sending food flying and swinging the heavy spar in one fluid motion in the direction of their assailants.

“Blood ’n’ vinegarrrrr!”

CRACK!

All three vermin were knocked poleaxed to the ground, stricken completely senseless. Constance tossed the spar aside with a snort of satisfaction, only to see Basil dancing about on the sand about like a madbeast.

“What’s the matter? Are you wounded?” she demanded, but the hare was merely overcome with awe.

“Absoballylutely spiffin’, wot! Strewth, I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Well, I thought I heard him ask you to pass the damson tartlet,” she said modestly.

  Then there was another incident that aroused much mess-hall gossip later, not all of it friendly. Corporal Merriwether, driven half mad after several seasons’ of Basil and the badger’s endless capacity for trouble, had allowed the pair of them out on a weeklong patrol, accompanied by two companions. They were a few days’ journey from Salamandastron, in the last hours of their assigned mission, when a runner named Gurdee spotted a shabby lean-to built precariously against the cliffs. A mangy grey and white rat was crouched outside at a feeble fire. He did not appear to be armed, but Gurdee’s fellow runner, a hare named Bayberry, was taking no chances.

“Paws where we can see ’em, laddie buck! Just what d’ye think you’re doing on these shores?”

“Tryin’ to keep warm,” the rat said dully.

“Wouldn’t happen to be one of Zivka Bluesnout’s scummy corsairs, would you?”

“A deserter, probably,” Basil suggested, in a voice that seemed to propose moderation, but the rat made no reply, and Bayberry ground his teeth together at the slight. With a nod to Gurdee the pair of them drew their rapiers, perhaps seeking to intimidate him into an answer. Bayberry cut the ropes holding together the rat’s dilapidated tent, and Gurdee stirred up the seacoal with the point of his sword, extinguishing the last frail sparks of the fire.

“Stay mum if you wish, but we can’t have questionable characters campin’ out on our Badgerlord’s territory. You’ll need to clear out by nightfall.”

The rat had not made one move to stop this destruction, but instead sat watching listlessly from the sand, one grubby paw splayed protectively over a deep wound in his foreleg. When she saw it Constance barked out a sharp order, her voice echoing off of the cliff walls like a thunderclap.

“Hares, leave that creature alone!”

Obediently they froze, but there was surprise and perhaps even slight resentment in their eyes. Constance ignored them and turned her attention back to the rat.

“How did you injure your leg?”

“Slipped,” he said hollowly. “On the sea rocks, foragin’ the tide pools.”

“When?”

“Few days ago.”

Constance tugged her haversack from her shoulders and began rummaging through it, coming up with a clean strip of bandage and pawful of pungent leaves and mosses.  

“Clean the wound in sea water, and then bind it with these herbs. It may sting, but it’ll heal. In the meantime, you’ll want to stay off it as much as you can. Do you have enough food here to last you a day or two?”

The rat shook his head. Constance dug through the haversack again and then set the last of her field rations, a strong wheat loaf and some good mountain cheese, atop the empty cask that served him as a table.

“Take these and move once when you’ve had time to rest. We’re sorry to have bothered you.”

Then without waiting for a word of thanks she turned on her heel and marched away from the scene, accompanied swiftly by Basil. Gurdee and Bayberry sheathed their blades with a last warning look at the rat before jogging to the badger’s side. They disapproved and did not try to disguise it.

“Not entirely sure I understand you, marm, givin’ away healing medsuns like that to a rat, of all creatures.”

“Rather, wot! An’ beggin’ your pardon, but it sticks in my gizzard to see proper gentlebeasts’ tucker wasted on a villain like that!”

Basil, seeing the strange look in her eyes, was the only one who remained silent. Constance continued to stride ahead at a purposeful double-march.

  On the journey back to Salamandastron she seemed somehow a changed creature, moody and withdrawn. She no longer hungered after battle and danger the way the young hares did. Even the ballads and marching songs, rousing tales of glory and peril and heroism, had lost their charm. She trusted only Basil for counsel, sitting up to talk with him late into the night.

She missed the new green of oak leaves in the woodlands, the ruddy rose of sandstone in the setting sun, the stillness and sweet fragrance of the Abbey orchards. She missed a gentle, kindly mouse in the habit of his Order, cooling his footpaws with her on the banks of the River Moss.

One morning she left the mountain behind and went home to Mossflower Country.

  ***

  She could hear the ringing of the Joseph Bell even from a distance, clear and strong and exultant, and almost in spite of herself began to run, paws churning up the pathsoil. Through the lacework of budding beech and elm leaves she soon saw flashes of pink stone, and then she found herself before the gate. She had to pause for a moment to catch her breath and calm her emotions. She had dreamed of this moment every evening of her journey back; perhaps she would wake up to find that this too had been nothing but her imagination.

Then she stepped forward and rapped at the door.

After a few moments a chubby little dormouse heaved the doors open, peeking cautiously around the corner. At the sight of her his mouth fell open, and he nearly dropped his bunch of gatekeys in surprise.

“May a weary traveler enter?”

“Heavens above!” the dormouse said breathlessly. “You must be that badger our Abbot talks about so much! Come inside, come inside and rest yourself. My name is Brother Abel. I think I remember you from a midsummer’s feast.”

No sooner had the gatekeeper let her into the Abbey grounds than another mouse materialized as if from thin air. Before she could say a word he flung his paws around her, laughing and weeping all at once.

“Constance! Constance!”

“Mortimer!”

“Constance, my dear, dear friend!”

Mortimer was a young mouse still, but his fur was already taking on a tinge of silvery grey. His face was alight with joy. He stepped back to get a better look at her, awed by her obvious strength and size.

“You’re as tall as an oak! Where have you been all these long seasons?”

“You’re the same height as you always were. I’ve been traveling, like I said I would.”

“You must tell me all about it! Let’s go for a walk in the cloister gardens. Thank you, Brother Abel, you can close the gate.”

Brother Abel made a respectful bow, a gesture which surprised Constance. But she soon forgot about it as she related to Mortimer the story of her travels. For what felt like hours she told him of the mountain and the great gray-green sea, the hares she had befriended and the dangers she had faced. With every step they took through the familiar gardens, every time Mortimer laughed at a funny story or gasped at a tale of a narrow victory over vicious foebeasts, her heart felt a little lighter.  

“Well, that’s about it,” she finished at last, wanting to hear about what he’d been doing all this time.  “I’ve had plenty of adventure, like I wanted to. And now I don’t know what to do.”

“So does this mean you’re here to stay?” he asked hopefully. Constance let out a sigh.

“Oh, I don’t know. Does Abbot Cedric have a use for a large, grouchy badger like me?”

“Good old Abbot Cedric. I’m sure he would have, but he went to his rest two seasons ago, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry, Mortimer. I know you were close to him.”

“He was a wise and compassionate soul. I hope I am serving well in his stead.”

“What do you mean?” asked Constance. Then, suddenly, she understood Brother Abel’s bow. Mortimer seemed to draw himself up a little, a creature fulfilled and fully at peace.

“Just before Abbot Cedric passed on, he told me that he’d decided to leave Redwall Abbey and all its creatures in my care. I am Abbot Mortimer now.”

  Constance was still grappling with this news when she felt somebeast step on her footpaw. A mousebabe and a small squirrel, both clad in the linen smocks of Abbey young ones, had attached themselves to the hem of her tunic, tugging and pushing. They were addressing her in what they imagined was their best imitation of a badgers’ voice, trying to make themselves sound gruff and fearsome.

“I’mma bigga strong badger, make you falla down!”

“We’re not scareded of anybeast!”

Constance was not used to little ones, but she felt her heart soften. With a wink to Mortimer she scooped the pair of them up single-pawed, tumbling dramatically into a patch of clover and coming to rest with a bump.

“Phew, what fierce warriors! You’ve slain me, you little rogues!”

“Yee hee! Again! Again again again!”

“These little scallawags are Holly and Jessamine, two of our most ferocious Dibbuns,” Mortimer said, smiling. Constance looked aghast.

“Dibbuns? What in the world is that?”

“It’s what we call the young ones here at Redwall.”

“Nonsense. I’ve never heard something so ridiculous.”

“Again again again!” interrupted the squirrelbabe Jessamine, trying to clamber up onto Constance’s head. Constance struggled to her feet in mock exhaustion and bent to take each of them by the paw.

“How about you two ruffians show me and Mor – the Father Abbot to the kitchens first? I’m famished!”

“What does badgers likes to eat?” Holly demanded.

“Naughty little mice and squirrels!” Constance said, raising her eyebrows and showing off her shining canine teeth.

“No!” shrieked Holly in terrified delight, while Jessamine giggled. “They likes chesknutters an’ strawbee cordial!”

“Oh, that’s right! I forgot. I bet you like chestnuts and strawberry cordial too. Here, let’s wash our paws off in the pond first.”

“I think we may have a use for a large, grouchy badger after all,” said Mortimer, with proper Father Abbot-like sobriety.  

  She did not go back to the cottage where she had grown up. Mortimer had tended it for her while she was away, but she felt that with a new chapter of her life should come new lodgings, and had him find a family of poor fieldmice to live there instead. Nights she slept out on the soft grass of the Abbey lawn, waking up drenched in dew. In the early mornings, recalling her Salamandastron routine, she let herself out through the side gate and took long rambles through Mossflower Wood, running, swimming, testing her strength against heavy boulders, practicing with spears, javelins and her grandfather’s longbow, which she kept stored in a mossy log, away from Mortimer’s slightly rueful glances and the peaceful Redwallers’ fearful ones.

But she was always back at the Abbey before luncheon, helping with chores and, mostly, keeping a weather eye on the mischievous young ones, who soon began to call her “Muvver Constance,” just as the grown-ups respectfully referred to her as “the Badgermum.” She had an unexpected gift for caring for the Abbeybabes, and eventually she knew she wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. She traded her woodland homespun for an apron and stout gown, with deep pockets to hold clean handkerchiefs and found toys and coltsfoot pastilles. At mealtimes she could often be found sitting at the young ones’ table, spoon-feeding the smallest of the babes, convincing middle-aged ones to eat their turnips and rutabagas, cuddling and rocking fractious infants to sleep while their older siblings perched on her shoulders. At bedtime she tucked the little ones in, one by one, and hummed old badgerwives’ lullabies or related Martin-the-Warrior legends until the dormitories echoed with the sound of gentle snoring.

Mortimer’s heart gladdened the first time she spoke of Redwall as home.

  ***

  Constance was several seasons his elder, but it was Mortimer who grew old and fragile first. His eyesight grew blurry, necessitating a pair of crystal spectacles. In the winters, when the orchard trees were brown and brittle, and the Abbey grounds sparkled white with snow, his joints sometimes grew stiff and painful. But untiringly he watched over his beloved Redwall, through many peaceful years, as any good Father should: patient, wise, just, kind, with the badger as his strong right paw.

Then came the seasons of Cluny the Scourge.

  In the seconds before she picked up the Cavern Hall table and threatened to smash it over the warlord’s head, she chanced a glance at her friend and saw on his face an expression she’d never seen there before: rage.

In the days afterwards, as Martin was lost to the enemy, as creatures were wounded and killed, this was soon followed by another first, one that startled her even more: uncertainty.

  Constance was bleeding freely from some half a dozen gashes along her flanks and on her paws, wounds earned during a vicious skirmish with several of Cluny’s scouts. Abbot Mortimer worked by candlelight to clean the deep cuts and treat them with herbs. He was unusually silent, not speaking until his work was finished.

“Please try to take better care of yourself, Constance,” he said at last, rather shortly. “You put yourself in danger far too often.”

“I only do what I must, Father Abbot.”

“But if something were to happen to you –”

“You have Matthias and Basil, Jess and Winifred. Redwall would survive.”

“I am asking you as a friend,” said Abbot Mortimer. “My dearest and wisest friend. If we win this war tomorrow it will already have been at too great a price. Do not ask me to suffer your loss on top of everything that has already come to pass.”

Constance was stunned by the emotion in his voice. After a moment she laid a heavy paw on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to have upset you, Abbot. I’ll try my best.”

It would never have occurred to her to ask him the same. He was as ever the careful, noncombatant Mortimer, a healer and a stretcher-bearer, a creature of peace, and the battle would never breach the Abbey walls to reach him. She would see to it.

  The Father Abbot was awakened by a sword-point at his throat.

  The poison barb on Cluny’s tail had done its deadly work. The Father Abbot was dying.

  ***

  There was much work to be done, after the war ended, but for a while she thought again of flight. Of sandy windswept shores and austere halls of mountain stone. Of the borderlands, of the northlands. Even of the sea. Anywhere but here, where the crimson laterose was still in fragrant bloom, and the big carved chair at the head of Great Hall sat empty, and the verdant gardens were full of mice in wide-sleeved brown robes gathering berries and talking with the Sparra, but none of them was Mortimer.

Yet every time she decided that the wound was just too deep, that she’d go mad with grief if she didn’t get away from here, something – or someone – changed her mind.

Matthias, still victory-stunned: “Constance, what should we do about the Joseph Bell?”

Mordalfus, solemn and deferential: “Constance, where do you think we should house the Guosim warriors who’d like to stay here till the springtide?”

The Redwallers at large, surprising her in Cavern Hole one day with a badger-sized marchpane cake: “Hurrah for Constance! We’d have been lost without you.”

And the young ones, clinging to her apron: “Muvver Constance, don’t be sad.”

  *****************************************

  Slowly summer gave way to autumn, autumn to winter, and winter to a spring whose beauty was beyond compare. John Churchmouse had suggested a season-name upon which they had all agreed.

It was the Springtide of the Warriors’ Wedding!

Constance had spent the preceding week tugging a hay cart far and wide through Mossflower Wood, ferrying creatures to the Abbey for the ceremony that would take place today. Now the Sisters of the order and all her woodland friends had spirited Cornflower away to the dormitories to dress her in cream-colored gown and veil, and Matthias was waiting anxiously in the gatehouse that would become their home, with Log-a-Log and Basil fussing over his tunic, to which he had tied a certain flowered headband that a certain maiden had bestowed upon him, what felt like years ago.

Therefore, Constance was enjoying a rare moment of rest out on the sunwarmed steps overlooking the orchards, as the blossoms danced and the pond rippled gently in a playful breeze. It reminded her of something Mortimer had said. 

I have seen it all before, many times, and yet I never cease to wonder. Life is good, my friends. I leave it to you...

In the kitchens Friar Hugo was making a trifle as tall as two mice, heaping with raspberries, meadowcream, and honey-soaked sponge. Foremole and his crew were filling Great Hall and Cavern Hole with bunches of purple irises, butter-colored daffodils and, of course, cerulean-blue cornflower, while Winifred and her otters lined the cloisters and outside corridors with sweet alyssum and pale pink and white water lilies. Ambrose Spike was shepherding a herd of little ones as they rolled barrels of strawberry fizz, October ale and dandelion-burdock cup to the tables out under the shade. Jess Squirrel and Silent Sam were leaping bough to bough amongst the fruit trees, affixing colored lanterns to the branches.

The friends I know and love are all about me.

Constance remembered another feastday many seasons ago, and a wise young mouse marveling with her at the splendor of the Abbey and the goodness of its creatures, and she felt, for the first time in long memory, entirely at peace.

“Today is a good day, my old friend,” the badger said.

[wysiwyg-wizards]

Halfling Dale Guide – Secret Records

When you finish a game of Halfling Dale you are given a character record. This record will always include the route you’ve chosen, your halfling’s profession, their closest relationship(s), and their Respectability. However there are many more things that can appear in the records of halflings willing to find them - and these secrets are what the following guide is for.

Some of these secrets have multiple ways of achieving them – I’ve marked which very clearly. In order to be as succinct as possible I have given at least one method to find every secret, but you may find yourself able to acquire these Secret Records by different methods as well.

Records for Exceptional Stats:

If any of your character stats are at max (or very close to max) then they will be included in your record – up to a maximum of 2. For more information on the stats and how to influence them, check out this Guide to Stats.

Route Specific Secrets:

                -“Sharpshooting archer” – is found on the Garrance Route, if you agree to an archery lesson in Act 3.

                -“Bambi’s Saviour” – is found on the Garrance Route, if you choose to take in and look after the baby deer in Act 6.

                -“Founder of ‘PC Named Group” – is found on the Mum Route, if you decide to make your own charity group in Act 3.

                -“Inherited a family heirloom” – is found on the Mum Route, by choosing to have a quite Yule with just Mum and Ida.

                -“Elf friend” – is found on the Patty Route.

                -“ Vanished into thin air” – is found on the Benny Route, if you get his True Ending.

                -“Hedgehog hater” – is found on the Goldworthy Route, if you suggest setting off the fireworks before finding the hedgehog at the end of Act 2.

                -”Master of Go” – is found on the Wilibald Route, if you invite him to join you in your home hole on Yule Night. Then you need to be a ‘Go Player’ and have a very high wise stat.

                -“Maker of Special Lemon Buns” – is found on the Miller Route, by choosing to have a quite Yule with just Mum and Ida.

Festival Secrets:

                -“Pie Contest Winner” – is achieved by placing in the top three or winning any special award in the pie contest at the Harvest Festival. For more info on this see the Pie Contest Guide.

                -“Pie pilferer” – is found by choosing to mess with Cousin Sissy’s pie, and successfully swapping your entry with hers.

                -“Odd tastes” – is found by making a Steak and Parsnip Pie seasoned with caraway seeds for the Harvest Festival. (This combination will also win the “Unique Flavour” award at the festival.)

                -“Yule Night Thespian”  - is found by successfully participating in any performance in the Town Hall on Yule Night. There are several ways to achieve this, but the easiest is to either join the group performance (this only works if you placed in the Pie Contest), or to give your character the ‘Story Teller’ hobby and make up a new fictional story.

                -“ Billy's saviour” – is found by going to the Town Hall on Yule Night and succeeding when you choose to help look for Billy. There are several ways to achieve this, one way is to have your character be either: mischievous, sensible, imaginative or an indoorsy sort, and then make the choice: I bet he snuck back into the town hall - only a lunatic would go out in this!

                -“Exemplary Springtide volunteer” – is achieved by volunteering to help with the dancing at the Springtide Fair and successfully resolving your chosen problem. There are several ways to achieve this, one way is to make your character a ‘Tailor’ and then help find the Spring Queen. Note: if you are on the Benny Route you will get a unique scene here, and won’t be able to choose this problem.

                -“Strength of a Scot” – win the caber toss at the Springtide Fair. There are several ways to achieve this, but one way is to make your character a ‘Brewer’ and then choose: The caber toss is all about strength, I put my back into it.

                -“ Three-legged race winner” – win the three-legged race at the Springtide Fair. Make sure to partner Mum because you can’t win with Sissy. There are several ways to achieve this, one way is to make your character a ‘Dancer’ then you can leap over the pile up, and trip the Spring Queen at the finish line.

                -“ Tug o'war winner” – win the tug o’war at the Springtide Fair. There are several ways to achieve this, one way is to make your character a ‘Brewer’ or ‘Goldsmith’ and then choose: Put all your strength into pulling and win this!

General Secrets:

                -“Made a Mortal Enemy” – is found by inviting Cousin Sissy to the Yule Night festivities at your home hole. Towards the end of the night when Sissy attempts to apologise you must throw the apology back in her face. (Note: there are several ways to lock yourself off from this record, check the Sissy Route Guide for more details.)

                -‘Slap fight with Sissy” – is found by joining Sissy for the three-legged race at the Springtide Fair (note: you can’t do this if you made Sissy your mortal enemy in Act 4). Race with your cousin, and then try and talk some sense into her (note: you can’t do this if you’re on the Sissy Route).

                -"Strongest halfling in the Dale" – is found by ringing the bell on the strength tester at the Springtide Fair. This is done by having the outdoorsy sort or industrious stats maxed out when trying to hit the bell.

                -“Found the secret gnome” – is found by entering the raffle at the Springtide Fair. You must be honest or well-meaning, then plunge your hand into the bottom of the barrel. There you will find the secret gnome.

                -“Friend of Teacake” – is found by choosing to relax on the picnic blanket with Ida in the afternoon at the Harvest Festival. Then a halfling who is a ‘Knitter’ will be able to make a basket for Teacake.

                -“Has a sweet tooth” – is found by choosing two out of these three options: peppermint sweets at Yule Night in the Town Hall, strawberries and cream at the Springtide Fair, or chocolate with chunks at the Springtide Fair.

                -“True connoisseur of pipe weed” – is found by choosing to light up a pipe in Act 1, then at the Springtide Fair choosing to find a bit of quiet in the evening, then light up a pipe there too.

                -“Keeper of Promises” – can be  found by sitting with Ida and Mum to watch the dancing at the Springtide festival. While there ask Ida to dance, then ask her to dance again in the evening.

                 -“Fisherbear Winner” – is found by trying to hook a duck at the Springtide fair. You must be a ‘Fisher’ and then try to use a proper cast to catch a duck.

                -“Righter of wrongs” – is found by starting the Wilibald route and helping him repair the Mathom House (Note: if you choose to work in the Mathom House you will not then be able to get this record) then inviting Sissy over for Yule Night and mending your fences with her.

Thanks for keeping up with this walkthrough series! Happy gaming.

[clickholeofficial]

Without Abstinence-Only Sex Ed, How Will The Young Ones Know Where Their Genitals Mustn’t Go?

There comes a time in every growing child’s life when certain curiosities are awakened and he becomes greatly enamored with the hiss and clang of his own developing privates. It is a season of rampant discovery, in which dawning passions cloud the rational mind and propel youngsters into an intoxicating new realm of animal enjoyments. But where we could once rely on grammar schools to properly advise pupils in such disciplines as shame, self-command, and shrewdness of loin, the fashion of our academies is now to train children in the practice of licentious indulgence, permitting them to partake in whichsoever carnal frivolities they like provided they don a prophylactic or lady-prophylactic. Our inexplicable abandonment of abstinence-only sexual education leaves me asking a question most urgent: How are our young ones ever to learn where their genitals mustn’t go?

Absent the faithful compass of abstinence-only teachings, children in their springtide are woefully susceptible to the bewildering sensations of virility. They are wont to thrust their clumsy machines onto each and every available allurement and even to seek courtship with inanimate objects, expressing the fullest vigor of their puberties upon whichever mannequin, hairbrush, or pinecone that happens to catch their depraved eye. While it might seem innocent for a lad to make lewd overtures unto his baseball mitt or for a lass to proffer her flower unto a sofa armrest with unhindered energy, in truth such hideous maneuvers undermine one’s constitution and soften the brain, hastening rapid moral descent. Yet, worryingly, these consequences are seldom imparted to children in the classrooms of today.

Indeed, children are given no indication whatsoever of where their genitals must and mustn’t go. Boys are unaware that one mustn’t make an ejaculation upon a jalopy or let one’s pubic satchel schlep over a VCR, lest one succumb to a vortex of sin and folly. Girls haven’t been told that to loiter hedonistically over a fire hydrant will make them slothful and infirm, or that to gratify their crevasse with a football is to emulate the sordid behavior of widows and the criminally insane. They haven’t the scantest inkling that the radiation of their inner thighs contains the infinite possibilities of human love and yet is degraded every time they make pelvic mischief with a Sunday ham or passionately entwine themselves with a golf bag. The fact is that without abstinence-only sexual education, children will fall so deeply into their debauchery that they’ll inevitably spoil the godly essences of the human vessel and reduce it to a great idiot body.

Competence of wang and pudendum is not naturally acquired. The wacky countenance of a lad mid-tug betrays plainly that he does not understand the liabilities of bestowing his hardened instrument unto Papa’s house slipper, and the ecstasy of his emissions will give him no incentive to learn. The only way to liberate our young ones from their grave genital ignorance is through a scheme of abstinence-only education built on the twin virtues of modesty and chastity. We must teach them that each spear of grass does its part toward the bountiful harvest, and that every time a boy resolves his special feelings atop a police horse or a girl boffs her fozzy with a classmate’s graphing calculator, they are inching nearer and nearer the rubicon of perversion, beyond which lies vast acreage of misery that they will be doomed to reap.

Abstinence-only sexual education teaches children not only where their genitals mustn’t go, but also the three honorable conditions by which they can be brought forth (wedlock, Greco-Roman wrestling, and to frighten off a charging bear). It teaches them to maintain authority over their sexual faculties so that they may be free to explore their nobler tendencies, encountering life’s platonic joys in all their abundance whilst one’s nether-meats retreat into indefinite dormancy within the nurturing confines of the bowels. These lessons provide the vital foundation for a wholesome and productive human society, wherefore I urgently implore their swift return to our hormone-befogged classrooms in which they are so desperately needed.

[netherwar-rpg-blog]

LORE FEATURE #5 - CALENDAR & SEASONAL EVENTS

Eldrissian years are divided into twelve months of thirty days each. There are five holidays that fall between some months and count as a day. This means there are 365 days in the year. The months are divided into three ten day weeks.

The names of the months are addressed by both their formal Renorn names and the common titles, with the common being more popular in conversation.

Month, Ancient Name, Common Name

1 - Carádír - Eveborne

2 - Maedrell - Moonfall

3 - Rielos - Dawndew

4 - Ornrhín - Rainsong (+ 1)

5 - Dyvest - Springtide

6 - Rithell - Brighthour

7 - Raenthell - Sunhour (+ 1)

8 - Kelvaen - Highflame (+ 1)

9 - Saelorá - Silversky

10 - Farndrell - Greenfall (+ 1)

11 - Naelmorn - Nightvoice

12 - Dormâlín - Stormwinter (+ 1)

Holidays & Extra Days:

NOTE: more festivals will be added over time.

El Dyine/Springtime: this event takes place in the last week of Rainsong and welcomes Springtide with a joyous week of celebrations. There is an extra day between the months of Rainsong and Springtide which is called Greenday (Farvaeth). It is considered especially lucky to be born on Greenday.

Summer’s Day: this extra day is at the end of the Sunhour month. It encourages all Eldrissians to rest from their work and stresses, and to relax in nature’s warmth. People are expected to nurture the wildlife around them and to appreciate the world’s beauty.

Va'tanth/Fireheart Festival: this event is especially popular in the southern countries. It starts on the fifth day of the second week of Highflame. It is a wild and loud festival which lasts until the end of the week. It is meant to be the farewell festival to summer and is usually accompanied with music, plays and plenty of food. Children born during this period are said to be born with fire in their veins and are fiercely confident.

Brightend/Ricled: this extra day is at the end of the Highflame month and marks the ending of summer. Communities are encouraged to be kind to their neighbours and to help prepare for the colder months to come.

Harvestsong: this event takes place at the end of the tenth month, Greenfall, and is usually around the harvest season for the middle to northern countries. It acts as an extra day between Greenfall and Nightvoice. Although the harvest season is different across Eldris, this particular day is still celebrated throughout as an opportunity to spend time with one’s family and community with food, wine and songs.

Evesong (Carrhín): this extra day is in between the end of Stormwinter and Eveborne. It celebrates the end of a year and welcomes the new by singing songs by huge fires. If a child is born on the day of Evesong, it is said they are born ‘out of fate’s sight’ and could be destined for great or terrible things.

| World Map | RP Plot | Open Characters |

[weeklyhumorist]

Holiday Sacrifice Guide

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Season’s Greetings, fellow supplicants! It’s that time of year again, when the days turn short, the winds turn cold, and we mortals gather sacrifices to appease our capricious gods in hopes that they will give us back the sun. Whether you’re looking for something a little less basic than a bushel of wheat or you’re just plain out of first-born sons, this guide’s got you covered for all your seasonal offering needs!

For the Harvest Gods: Have you been saving up a little from each crop all year to make sure you have a varied and attractive sacrifice platter on Burningstide? Of course you have, you don’t want your clan to starve! But just in case your cache has been eaten by voles or you somehow failed to set aside the recommended ten percent, the Harvest Gods may also be appeased by the burning of your hair. Make sure you cut it off first, silly!

For the Goddess of Fertility: The great thing about sacrifices for She who Bestows Children is that you don’t even have to burn them! Simply source a bit of clay, fashion a little figure with a belly as full of life as you wish yours to be, and place upon your most sacred altar. A sacrifice that doubles as home décor? Score!!!

For protection from storms: The wind and snow Gods are the by far the most difficult to appease – even our most revered shamans only guess right about half the time. However, it never hurts to sacrifice your fattest piglet just in case – just think of how you’d feel if your clan froze to death and you *hadn’t* sacrificed everything you could? That’s a lot of guilt to carry into the Next Realm.

To fell the great beasts of the hunt: There’s no way around it – meat calls to meat. To ensure a prosperous hunting season, you’re going to have to give up a little personal protein. If last year’s baby-sacrifice didn’t do the trick, consider the ritual murder of a brave and comely youth. And if that doesn’t work, perhaps it’s time for a new Clan Leader? To burn a Leader is truly a worthy sacrifice, and brings about a much-needed change in regime. Talk about sacrificing two birds with one stone!

To ensure a good marriage for your offspring: Really, if you did your Springtide sacrifices correctly, you should be good here, but feel free to shove your son’s rivals off a cliff just in case.

To vanquish the Enemy That Lives In the Hills: Ugh, the hill clans, am I right? Not only does their vanquishment require the sacrifice of warriors in the unending battles, but to ensure that their crops fail and their women go barren, we must make sacrifices of GOLD to the War God. Gold! Oh well, Burningstide only comes once a year.

To the SUN GOD: The most important sacrifice of all! It’s a tricky balance to strike – we want the Sun God to come back, but we certainly don’t want Him to swallow up the world in fiery vengeance for our sins. The Burning of the Log might feel old-hat, but look – it’s worked every year, and do you really want to be the clan that makes the sun go away forever? Didn’t think so!

  And whatever goods and creatures you sacrifice this season, here’s wishing you and your bloodline a safe and happy Solstice – may the Gods spare us all once again!

Holiday Sacrifice Guide was originally published on Weekly Humorist

[coralandpearls]

The winds of the true springtide are passing over you; adorn yourselves with blossoms like trees in the scented garden. Spring clouds are streaming; then turn you fresh and verdant like the sweet eternal fields. The dawn star is shining, set your feet on the true path. The sea of might is swelling, hasten to the shores of high resolve and fortune. The pure water of life is welling up, why wear away your days in a desert of thirst? Aim high, choose noble ends; how long this lethargy, how long this negligence! Despair, both here and hereafter, is all you will gain from self-indulgence; abomination and misery are all you will harvest from fanaticism, from believing the foolish and the mindless. The confirmations of God are supporting you, the succor of God is at hand: why do you not cry out and exult with all your heart, and strive with all your soul!

‘Abdu’l-Bahá