#usually foraged from the surrounding environment

[spellwing777]

[papermatisse]

Into the Woods || Y.HS

† genre: horror, fantasy

† word count: 3.6k

† warnings: death mentions, gaslighting/tricks, abduction, faes

† synopsis: her village had always maintained the peace through fire-and-brimstone fear tactics. though who could've known that old children's fable had some truth to it...

† (a/n): second installment to my spooktober anthology! if you haven't already, do check out biaswreckingfics thrills and chills vent, in particular her fae one which helped me gain inspiration for this one!

† taglist: @scuzmunkie @hipsdofangirl @hydroyaksha

anthology | main masterlist

There had been rumors of the woods bordering the village. Of a great evil which lingered within its brush. Darkness somehow contained in the dense growth of trees that surrounded her people. That ages ago, children would go missing in the night, never to be heard from again. Their ghostly giggles seemed to resonate from the tangle of bark and leaves, luring in unaware or gullible children to their doom.

At least that's what was told to (y/n) and the rest of the children as they grew up. By the time she became a teenager, she had understood the intention of such tales. To deter children from wandering too close to the woods and its inhabitants: wolves, bears, perhaps even a dedicated rabid bunny. All dangers which lurked in their environment, inevitable in their existence, and so the only measure they could take was preventative. Ensure children were within the watchful peripheral of an adult, and therefore safe from nature and its cruelty.

Perhaps that's why she deemed it acceptable to gather the berries by the edge of the woods. It was all just a tall tale to ward off children either way. She was a grown adult now. Fully capable of fending for herself and accepting the consequences of her actions—although she made note to be quick in her foraging.

Pick the berries. Get out. Pick the berries. Get out.

Her mantra cycles listlessly through her head, becoming white noise as she filled her basket with the succulent delicacies she'd later use in her baking. The sun still beamed overhead, indicating the plentiful amount of time she had left of the day to be able to prepare some treats for her siblings.

As if by a grand coincidence, a familiar sound seemed to waltz through the air, greeting her ears with its comforting yet unexpected lilt.

"Nell?" (y/n) called out habitually, whirling around at the sound of her sister's familiar voice. Nothing. No one. The village was a fair distance away, with its usual hustle and bustle a mere muted drone to fill the otherwise still atmosphere. Definitely not close enough for her sister's voice to carry this far.

She waited another moment, eyes scanning the fields as if awaiting for Eleanor to pounce forth and startle her. Yet she was met with silence once more.

Perhaps it was her imagination. Her anxieties from being so near the woods manifesting itself in peculiar forms. Thus, she proceeded with her picking, though in an admittedly rushed manner.

Then, it happened again. Another round of giggles. This time, (y/n) shot to her feet, turning to stare out and await her sister's arrival.

"Nellie," (y/n) attempted to announce, eyes roving over the tall grass. "You know you shouldn't be out here. Mother will be displeased."

Silence.

The first time, she was able to chalk it up to mere paranoia. Though this time, it sounded almost too real to write it off as anything but her mischievous sister mucking about as per usual. However, she's never wandered out this far before in her jests.

Just as (y/n) was about to call her sister's name again, the giggle sounded forth once more. This time, right behind her.

(y/n) spun about, stumbling on her footing as she gasped at the sudden intrusion. Though when she turned, expecting to be greeted with her sister's conniving grin, she was met by none other than the woods, a mere foot away from her.

Memories of that accursed folktale came barreling to the forefront of her mind, twisting her stomach into knots as she stepped away from the trees. Even in the broad daylight, the darkness seemed all encompassing, swallowing anything and everything it seemed to get into its grasp. It was foreboding, an omen that held not even the slightest ounce of allure to (y/n), who continued to retreat from its beckoning.

"(y/n)." The hushed whisper of Eleanor's voice greeted her once more, this time certainly coming from within the woods. Her sister's exact voice. A perfect replica of it.

Again, (y/n) backed away, breath shaky as her shoulders trembled with fear. Any attempt to spot Eleanor peeking behind the trees proved fruitless due to that daunting abyss of black that consumed the woods as a whole.

"Where are you going?" The voice spoke again, a curious lilt in its tone, almost mocking in a way. (y/n) said nothing, steps widening as she kept her eyes trained on the trees.

Another giggle resounded. Gone was its joking undertones, almost entirely alien to the Eleanor she knew.

"You don't want to play?" It was a convoluted ploy, twisting her sister's words until it was a different person entirely. Another deeper voice seemed to intermingle with that of Eleanor's, overlapping in perfect syncrasy with one another.

Another gasp escaped her lips as the gravity of the situation began to truly settle in. The truth of it all dismantling every aspect of her belief system until nothing was left, uprooting her ideology until she questioned everything she once thought true.

Once the giggling began to fade away with distance, (y/n) finally turned around, making a run for the village, not daring to look back for even a moment.

Dinner was as rambunctious as it could be with a family of their caliber. Two young boys laughing and playing with their food, a father who seemed more than willing to partake in their shenanigans, a mother busy nursing the baby in her grasp, and the two eldest daughters off to the side. Eleanor laughed along with the bunch, presumably unbeknownst to her sister's forlorn demeanor since she had gotten back from her berry picking.

Though as they both prepared for bed in their shared room, Eleanor now seemed privy to her sister's silence.

"I didn't see you come back with berries," she began, voice cutting through the quiet of their room. (y/n) curled further into her sheets, attempting to push away the memories of earlier that day. Memories she never wanted to encounter again.

"I changed my mind." Eleanor chuckled at this, the familiar sound sending a shiver down (y/n)'s spine.

"Did the woods scare you off?" It was a joke, a subtle tease to prod at her sister, though at the lack of a response, Eleanor grew more stoic. "(y/n), you can't be serious. We're adults now, you should know fully well there's nothing in those woods. In all my years of living here, I've never once heard a wolf howl of any sort."

"It's not the wolves I fear," (y/n) muttered, burying her face into her pillow. Eleanor was stunned into silence for a moment, but then choked out another bout of laughs.

"Are you telling me you're scared of the fae? The story they'd tell us as kids to make us behave?" (y/n) was reluctant to respond, though this didn't deter Eleanor in the slightest. "(y/n), if it bothers you so much, allow me to go tomorrow and retrieve—"

"No." (y/n) was now sat up, staring at her sister across the room from her. The sternness in her voice shocked Eleanor, her smile slowly fading as she saw the pure, unadulterated fear lying beneath (y/n)'s gaze. "We're not going anywhere near those woods. Never again."

Days seemed to pass by without any other phenomenal hindrance. Though the memory of that day plagued her mind, and that sinister voice seemed to haunt her dreams, (y/n) continued with her life, however weary as she was. Her body was wrought with fear and it was beginning to take its effect. From simple mistakes accumulating into one big mess, it was clear (y/n) was not in her prime. Though there was nothing more she could do, what with this suffocating paranoia all but penetrating her every waking thought.

Her nightmares were as vivid as could be, and seemingly always followed the same sequence. (y/n) walking mindlessly into the brush, pushing aside branches and weaving between the trees which seemingly sprung up in her very path. And she continuously walked forth, as if on a predetermined trail ingrained in her mind. All the while, she could feel it—its stare. It watched her all throughout her journey, never sparing her a moment to herself. Suffocating her with its overbearing presence.

And at the end of her walk, her skin marred with scratches by twigs and rocks along the way, heart beating out of her chest, she'd step into a clearing. A grove of sorts. Dark and eerie, much like the rest of the woods, a canopy of dense branches overhead sparing only a few beams of sunlight into the ground. But in those rays of light, she'd see it approaching.

It took the form of a man, tall with long strides as he came forth. Handsome with deep eyes staring right into her, yet boyish features in a feeble attempt to lower her defenses. But no matter how fortified she made herself to be, it never seemed to do much once he got her.

A hand on her neck, squeezing in such a way that he could feel her pulse beating helplessly beneath his fingers and her breath growing frantic at the sudden obstruction. He contorted his body forward, crowding over her, consuming her space until there was nothing between them. A sickeningly sweet smile spread across his face, eyes manic as he laughed and he laughed and he laughed. A raucous crescendo into a deranged cackle, seizing at her every thought with its maniacal grasp.

And he'd keep her right there in that state, feeling her sanity slip away as she remained detained in his clutches for all the hours of the night. Taunting her, as if holding out her death, her sweet release from this torment, for another time. A time where he can truly have her all to himself.

Her nights were restless, her days vigilant, and at the end of it all, (y/n) was beginning to collapse in on herself. This was quite evident to her sister, the one who spent perhaps the most time with (y/n) in the first place, and as much as she tried to help, there was nothing she could do to derail her from this unending darkness she found herself collapsing into. All she could do was silently support her sister with reassurances and assistance—as much help as she could offer.

Though it was at times like these where the sisters' differences were truly apparent, and as (y/n) prepared dinner for the bunch, the barren absence of her sibling truly became apparent. With the lack of a helper in the cooking, (y/n) began worrying of where Eleanor may have run off to.

The paranoia only seemed to heighten as the table was set and the family was seated, all except the one chair across from (y/n). They were all understandably worried, though attempted to write it off as perhaps Eleanor getting caught up with something else. Perhaps a friend had invited her over and Eleanor forgot to inform the rest of them. Or maybe she was out helping one of her neighbors with a task.

But with the truth of the woods lingering perpetually in the recesses of (y/n)'s mind, she couldn't be sure of anything.

That night, (y/n) didn't sleep. She waited for her sister's arrival, something which never happened that night. And upon daybreak, (y/n) was certain this disappearance was the work of the nefarious evil of the woods. It was a certainty in her head.

However hesitant she was, the grief of having lost her sister consumed any ounce of reason or doubt within her, and with a brief farewell note upon the dining room table, she set out to seek Eleanor.

Along the way, neighbors gave brief but otherwise useless accounts of when they'd last seen her. The farmer's account validated each of (y/n)'s suspicions and fears.

"I'd seen her walk by the other day with a basket, heading out towards the fields. Didn't see her after."

Approaching the woods felt like visiting her recurring nightmares personally, yet no matter how real they seemed, they were nothing as compared to the true scene of it all.

A wall of trees towered over her, and at their feet lay that humble, lonesome berry bush. Beside it was both her basket she had abandoned long ago, somewhat tattered due to the natural elements it had faced over the past few days, as well as her sister's basket, toppled over with her picked berries pooling out and onto the grass.

The thought was bittersweet, guilt already riddling her body at the mere prospect that Eleanor may have gotten swallowed up by the woods whilst attempting to appease (y/n). As if the whole series of events they'd gone through were a result of her alone, yet as she neared the border of the woods, she knew it was not solely her doing.

She could feel her heart begin its tiresome beat, thudding violently against her ribcage. Her breathing was shaky as she stood there, a mere step away from the trees. Her feet seemed cemented to the ground where she stood, unable to back away nor finally break the threshold before her. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to turn back, to flee from these woods at all costs, but there was that debilitating guilt brewing within her. How could she live with herself if her sister truly did die in there?

Perhaps it was the guilt, or perhaps it was some blinding hubris which made her crave something from these trees—vindication, answers, release. Whatever it may be, the reason held her with an iron grip, and she remained where she stood, waiting; perhaps for some invitation of sorts.

"(y/n)..." the shaky voice of her sister alerted (y/n), a cold dread sinking into her being at the sound of Eleanor's voice—or more so that of a feeble replication of her voice… from right in front of her. As if she were speaking face to face with her sister. "(y/n), you came back for me."

The dense and dark brush obscured any attempts to see what stood before her, though the proximity of it had shivers running down her spine, tears pricking at her waterline at the sheer horror of it all. She remained silent, wary of whatever spectacle was being tried to lure her in. She could only compare the use of her sister's identity as something akin to a puppeteer exploiting its dolls. As if a mere guise for its audience.

It wasn't trying to lure her in anymore. It was taunting her.

Beneath the low whistle of the winds and the rustling on leaves all around, she could hear an unsettling yet rather distinct sound that made her blood grow cold. The deep and unmistakable sound of a man breathing, coinciding with whimpers of Eleanor's voice. Like he was only further proving her point of this whole charade being nothing more than a cruel mockery of her situation.

The noises grew more distant, sinking into the all encompassing embrace of the woods, daring her to enter alongside them. To finally become one with the woods and its victims—victims like her sister.

(y/n) took a tentative step forward, raising a weak arm above her to push aside the curtain of branches which concealed what lay ahead, and as she delved into the woods for the first, and perhaps the last time, she felt her world warp and twist into a demented wonderland of sorts. The trees, which from the beginning towered above her, seemed to only loom taller in their imposing stature. Shadows seemed to deepen into inky black pools of nothing all around her. Rustling leaves took on sinister murmurs, as if carrying along with it the voices of countless victims lost in these woods, as well as beckoning whispers to come further into the forest.

Her steps echoed with a hollow sound, reality seeming to distort with the discordant and ominous melody surrounding her. The further in she ventured, the more overpowering her fears seemed to become until its blinding and all encompassing existence had become the one thing she could fixate on. Her body prickled with nerves, a cool numbness tingling her skin as she willed her feet along, acutely aware of unseen eyes which probed her from the dark depths of the trees.

The air seemed to grow colder and colder, and she wasn't sure whether the trembles taking over her body were from her fear or the sudden temperature drop. Though there wasn't much room for thought, as obscure, yet ever so familiar, glimpses of the fae creature plagued the recesses of her mind, growing stronger and more vivid the further along she got, as if confirming the route she took. His malevolent grin flashed across her mind, shivering at the array of teeth ready to devour her, tormenting her as she progressed along.

Her breathing had slowly become unstable as she walked, the realization truly hitting her when she briefly turned around, only to have no idea where she had come from. What path she had taken mere steps before where she currently resided. As if the woods were swallowing her whole, refusing to ever let her slip by. And unwillingly, she proceeded forward into the never ending labyrinth, her mind somehow knowing exactly what to look out for.

It came sooner rather than later. The sudden clearing in the midst of it all. A small, unassuming grove of sorts, bordered by the impenetrable wall of trees that shrouded its existence from the rest of the world. There was an oppressive, deafening silence—a troubling realization for a forest of all things. Yet it didn't last long, as a low and distinct humming pierced through the stillness of the atmosphere, prompting her body to freeze up on the spot. It was melodic, dripping with a cruel and feigned saccharine that seemed to creep all about her.

Soon enough, he emerged. Tall as her dreams had portrayed him, with ethereal features unlike any she's seen before. His eyes were dark with an unmistakable edge that had haunted her dreams for many nights. His lips tugged into a smile as he stepped out of the shadows, and the full sight of him had (y/n) gasping. Tears welled up in her eyes at the image presented of the fae that had been targeting her. Watching her and tormenting her, driving her completely and utterly insane.

His dark eyes gleamed with a mischievous, unholy light, fixating upon her with an unsettling mixture of what seemed to be pure amusement and… hunger.

"(y/n)," he spoke, his smooth and deep timbre fitting perfectly with the rest of his personage, calling to her with his deceivingly sweet voice. "You've finally come to me."

His strides were wide as they carried him directly to her, and she was left to gawk up at him with whatever remaining bravado she may have had in her. His hands trembled as they carefully took in her loose hair, squeezing the strands between his fingers.

"I've been waiting… for so long." He leant down into her shoulder in an abrupt and aggressive manner. The sharp inhale he took had (y/n) jumping in her spot, tears freely falling down her face as he finally stepped back to stare at her, and she finally got to see him upfront for the first time. Making direct eye contact with the abomination of the woods.

His laughter burst forth in a raucous and chaotic way that had her wincing away as much as she could. Though the sounds soon dissipated as he opted on brushing her head with his large hand.

"Oh, your sister… Such a pity." He smiled again, eyes darting about to every square inch of her face, almost admiring her as one would an artwork.

"My… sister?" (y/n)'s voice was broken and mangled, barely above a whisper, though loud enough in the still quiet of the woods. He grinned at her words, a fond and appreciative smile that had her pulse quickening at the mere sight of it.

"Her fate was sealed the moment she ventured into my woods."

(y/n) felt her heart shatter at the news, throat constricting upon itself as she shut her eyes and openly wept. Her body seized in on itself, near the point of collapse had it not been for the fae who forcibly kept her standing upright against him.

"A useless thing, but her sacrifice was necessary for our meeting." Again, his voice was filled with such gentle kindness that it made her utterly sick to her stomach. The grief of losing her sister seemed the primary emotion wrecking her from within, to the point that the reality of her situation had yet to truly sink in, even as the fae continued to ravel himself around her until there was no way of escaping his grasp. "Don't worry, my precious, I won't hurt you like I did her."

He brushed away the tears staining her cheeks, ignoring the new streaks that replaced them either way, merely smiling down at (y/n) without a single care in the world.

"What are you going to do to me?" She asked, voice wavering with every syllable as her body shook with tremors. And the fae just continued with his merry demeanor, unperturbed by her clear dismay and debilitating terror.

"There are fates much worse than that of death. You've stepped into my domain. And now… you're mine forever."

[vasa-boattours]

HWS Switzerland headcanons

Multilingual by default. Also speaks the langauge of his businesspartners fluently.

Speaks extra thick Schwyzerdütsch with Gilbert, Ludwig, and Roderich just because he can. Gradually elevates difficulty levels to Berndütsch if they seem to slowly understand the previous levels of Schwytzerdütsch

A lot of Norse countries get credit for surviving harsh winters but he's equally tough. Surviving in a mountainy region with drastic winters is tough work.

Survivalist to the max. MacGuyver's himself through any rural environment.

Good with animals, especially more "difficult" to handle farm animals, like goats, cows, and donkeys. Trains his shephearding dogs perfectly. Doesn't like horses though. Not sturdy enough and too much maintenance. Adores his wildlife, especially vultures. Usually he doesn't like talking more personally to people but will hold an entire lecture on vultures and their significance in the ecosystem when prompted.

Also trains avalanche-rescue dogs.

Crafty in many departments: Can make his own food (from wheat to bread, milking to tasty aged cheese, etc.), expert forager, knits comfiest socks, hats, and sweaters, excellent first aid skills, expert woodworker, understands the physics of technology in extreme weather conditions, knows how to handle animals (wild or domestic), can fix almost any machinery. For some reason believes that qualifies him to cut his own bangs.

A bit intense when organizing. He's always organized about every event: Winter, business, travel trips, party planning. But he gets irritated if others are lax in this deparment when they're trying to organize the same thing.

Likes the finer things in life. Everything he surrounds himself with is of good quality whereas not boisterous. It's all very tasteful.

Likes to eat well.

Still drives over the border to shop at the grocery stores of his neighbor countries because the prices are much lower. Still complains about the cheese quality though.

Can be surprisingly charming at first meetings. Treats prople with reserved politness, makes small, light hearted jokes. But he's extremely difficult to get close to on a personal level.

Even spontaneous meeting just too chat are already too familiar to him.

Not uninterested in others but enjoys being mostly by himself.

Actually can be very funny. It's mostly dry humor yet he has an unmatched timing. When he doesn't laugh at anyone else's jokes it's not for not getitng them but because he purposefully wants to signal that he doesn't want to dignify that comment with a laugh.

Deadpan comments are politely formulated yet ice-cold.

Quiet interested in culture. Loves to go to art exhibits, museums, or watch movies. Even enjoys experimental stuff. Yet, if he doesn't like something he will tear it verbrally to shreds for having wasted his time.

Uses many food metaphors without him noticing.

In modern days he has fun creating hip-hop-tracks. Nobody but him likes that.

Although he enjoys the refinery of urban environments, when he gets overwhelmed he retreats into the mountains to do craftswork, tend animals, and generally avoid human contact.

Terrific at any sport related to winter and mountains. Has to ski well by necessity although his first attempts at snowboarding were hillariously clumsy. Equally passionate about hockey and figure skating. Hiking and mountain climbing are his summer time passions. Very convinced by his climbing skills, so he died on several ocassions doing freestyle climbing. Stubbornly doesn't accept his failure though.

Many of his early deaths include death by avalanche, guessing what herb is edible or not, freezing to death, and getting in a wresting match with a billy goat once.

Interested in science as so far as it serves to better human living conditions in natural enviroments, or how to do things more practically. Loves riding the train to watch the panorama although not keen on Ludwig nerding out about trains.

If he had to choose, his favourite neighbour might be Francois (don't tell him that though).

Of course he's a pretenstious schmuck about his chocolatier skills. Belgium and him have silent rivalry about who's choclate gets more praise.

Never leaves the house without a Swiss army knife.

[theconceptualcookbook]

Common name: Golden kelp

Latin botanical name: Ecklonia radiata

Family: Lessoniaceae

Native: Mostly in intertidal zones of Southern Hemisphere coastlines

Ecology:

Ecklonia demonstrates how the climate emergency can impact marine ecosystems. This species of kelp grows 1m tall and usually grows down to 25m in depth. In recent decades it has been thriving where Giant kelp forests are disappearing, due to rapid warming of the Australian east coast current. It’s most noticeable around Tasmania, where the warm nutrient poor waters displace the cooler nutrient rich southern currents. Each Giant kelp plant can grow up to 40m tall, being the largest marine algae in the world, with whole forests supplying food and habitat for countless fish and other marine species.

Water off the east coast of Tasmanian is a global heating hotspot. Over the last century, a temperature rise of 2C has caused 95% of Tasmania’s kelp forests to disappear. This has been exacerbated by the native sea urchin feeding on the weakened plants to create marine deserts. Sea urchin populations have exploded along the east coast, due to the depletion of their natural fish predators from over fishing and loss of their kelp forrest habitat.

Ecklonia dominates the ecological niche environment left behind by Giant kelp and joins a growing list of native species becoming invasive due to climate change. On a positive note, scientists from the Institute of Marine and Antarctic Studies are currently trialling selective breeding to produce a variety of giant kelp more suited to warmer waters. See here: https://www.theguardian.com/environment/ng-interactive/2020/feb/24/the-dead-sea-tasmanias-underwater-forests-disappearing-in-our-lifetime

Food:

Ecklonia plays a role in my current research into parallel relationships between fermented foods, the human-microbiome and the ecosystems we depend on. In 2021 I developed a range of fermented food products for the exhibition Plant Treaty at Lismore Regional Gallery, under the now defunct business ECO GUT. Each product contained a specific plant ingredient – native or endemic to a specific ecology under threat. I made Pacific Kimchi with locally sourced ingredients, including green papaya and Ecklonia foraged from Northern Rivers beaches.

Foraging:

Ecklonia can be found washed up on beaches immediately after large swells from Southerly weather systems. Collect it before it starts to rot on the sand and wash it in clear seawater. Dry it on your clothesline in the sun, because it dries faster and ultraviolet light is thought to make nutrients in sundried plants more bioavailable when eaten. Foraging is an ancient practice gaining popularity around the world. Alternative food practices play a major role in my research and collaboration projects, through engagement with diverse cultural histories and community initiatives, such as migrant community gardens and First Nations agriculture & connections to place through local edible species. When undertaken with care and consideration, foraging is one of many food practices that highlight the unsustainability of modern extractivist style farming. Monoculture farming depletes soil microbial health and fertility, thereby depending on chemical fertilisers, pesticides, fungicides and herbicides. It diverts and drains water from land and contaminates aquifers, leading to the collapse of biodiversity.

Foraging comes with responsibility. Always remember, it’s not just about free food and getting into nature, foraging is in effect a form of agriculture and caretaking of land. It requires awareness of your surroundings and just a little effort each time to maintain and supporting biodiversity for stronger ecosystems we all depend on. Always check your state or local government websites for rules and restrictions applying to the collection of wild plants. In New South Wales you can forage up to 20 litres of fresh seaweed from beaches per day for personal use only. A permit is required for commercial use. See here for further info on recent projects between Germany and Australia https://andrewrewald.com

[foulserpent]

heres a mostly complete draft of a lorebook for a mod. its about the food of northern skyrim (the pale and winterhold)

A Culinary Sampling of Skyrim's Frozen North

by Svenvar Wide-Mouth

The Pale and Winter-holds of northern Skyrim are notable for their bitter cold and long winters. The northernmost cities experience only a brief summer, perpetually chilled by the frigid Sea of Ghosts and their nearby glacial masses. Compared to the southern holds (especially my oft-mild and sunny homeland of Falkreath), very little can grow here. The crops and livestock that can thrive here must be almost as tough and hardy as the people themselves.

As such, one from warmer climes may question how these people here even survive their brutal winters. And as a cook by trade and passion, I was particularly curious about their food. How does this inhospitable environment shape the culinary landscape? What is most commonly consumed? Here, dear reader, is but a brief sampling of what I have learned.

---

What is perhaps most bountiful in this clime is fish. Herring, pike, lake trout, whitefish, sturgeon and salmon are particularly abundant, and supply the majority of the diet. Fish is often brined, pickled, or fermented to aid in preservation, but is just as often smoked, or boiled fresh as a hot meal. Eggs are harvested from the largest of fish, with caviar being an expensive but worthwhile treat, difficult to find fresh anywhere else. Herring is a particular regional favorite, overflowing the fish markets and prepared in every way one can imagine.

Large, ugly sharks are occasionally caught along the coast. Their meat appears to be somewhat poisonous without processing, but this is of little obstacle to those with the characteristic stubbornness fostered by this region. The great fish are first buried for months on end, then hung and dried for months more. Dear reader, I pride my palate on being quite sophisticated and open to novel flavor profiles, but I found this dish particularly difficult to stomach. The fisherman who procured me a sampling seemed to find my distress quite amusing, and advised me to simply plug my nose and try to swallow.

The shores of Skyrim's northern coast bustle with horkers. These moody beasts are covered in a thick slab of blubber, and are slaughtered for their exceptionally hearty meat. They are hunted with harpoons when they come to shore to bask and mate. Their smaller, white-furred cousins are mostly found on Solstheim, but sometimes stray far enough south to be captured among the ice floes to the far north. Horker meat is ideal for the traveler, being quite filling and providing much-needed fat for a long and cold trek.

The richness and utility of their meat is surpassed only by that of the whales that are occasionally harpooned and hauled out of the icy seas by skilled whalers. Both horker and whale fat is valuable for its numerous other uses, primarily being made into soaps, or as fuel for the regions horker or whale oil lamps.

Wild game is sought after as well, with elk, moose, deer, rabbit, goat, ptarmigan and snow geese providing sustenance to those outside of the larger towns and cities. Children are often sent to brave angry snow geese for their eggs, which can be quite abundant during their breeding season.

Notably, bear is sometimes hunted and consumed, predominantly the cave bear. In spite of their intimidating fangs and claws, these beasts partake in a largely herbivorous diet, with their meat lacking the acrid taste that their more carnivorous kin may possess. Though they make easy targets during their winterly hibernation, it is heavily taboo among these nords to hunt a sleeping bear.

The explanation I usually receive is that it is simply an inglorious kill. But it seems that in some traditions, these animals are under Kyne's protection during their winter slumbers. To kill one is to invoke her wrath- in the form of a storm, or something greater. One tale claimed that a hunter who made such a kill was found later reduced to merely a splatter of blood and viscera in the snow, surrounded by prints bearlike in form and manlike in gait. Whatever the case, surely their meat is far preferable in the summer and autumn, when they have grown fat on a diet of berries, forage, and the occasional salmon.

Cattle, sheep, goats, horses, (and for a few very brave, or very foolhardy farmers; mammoths) provide meat, hides, and dairy to the northern holds. Every autumn, livestock is butchered and preserved for the lean months ahead. Meat is dried, or buried and fermented, or simply left outside during the winter and thusly frozen. The blood and offal are used to produce a variety of blood-sausages, while meat invariably ends up in the household stew pots. These 'skause' stews are kept cooking in perpetuity and consumed daily, with fresh meat, potatoes, carrots, and cabbage being continually added as needed.

In spite of the common insult that I and many others must acclimate to in our travels, milk and dairy products are an important staple to the diet across Skyrim, and the north is no exception. Milk is preserved in the form of cheeses and butters, creams and curds, and heavily salted for better preservation overwinter. Mammoth cheese is particularly rich and filling, though it has a strange odor and foul aftertaste that may wrinkle the nose of more sensitive palates.

Wheat is too delicate for the bitter cold of this region, with barley, oats, and rye being more suited. Most breads are made with these hardy grains, as well as porridges and other foodstuffs. Common ales are produced likewise, with meads being a luxury good obtainable largely from the more temperate southern holds. As well as these grains, some hardy breeds of potato, cabbage, carrot, and onion manage to thrive in the short growing season.

One will be hard pressed to find much of anything sweet in these regions; too cold for bees and their honey, much less the variety of fruits to the south. Snowberries are the only berries hardy enough to survive the northernmost regions in great numbers. They are known for having warming properties, and are widely cultivated and foraged to be used in tea, porridge, jam, bread, yoghurts, cheese, soups, wines or simply eaten by the mouthful. They are somewhat tart, but with an underlying sweetness that blossoms forth when allowed to sufficiently overripen.

---

[paintedpeeta]

Woodsy outings with the family headcanons? Katniss and her toastbabies hiking 🥾 and Papa carrying his son on his shoulders when he’s little and bird watching and exploring the river and just having a good time.

i firmly believe in woodsy mellark family supremacy 🌲🪵🍃🧺🧑🏼‍🦱👩🏽👧🏽👶🏼🪴🧸🌿🍂

i think katniss would have her little ones out there with her pretty much as soon as she could. little tiny things strapped to her chest and bundled up tightly for warmth, letting them get familiar with the nature sounds and environment. laying them down in soft grass to let them kick their legs, nursing them in the shade when she stops to give her legs a break.

they partake in all sorts of activities, katniss teaching them how to climb trees (albeit very cautiously, mama bear does not play when it comes to her little ones’ safety) and forage for certain berries and plants (her heart swells when her little toasties can already point out certain things because of the plant book, which their daughter often does because she’s as bright as a buttton and super curious in her surroundings).

their son really takes to fishing, which is surprising because he’s usually so loud and energetic, but he likes to be in and around the water of the lake and that’s something that he can do with papa. really they all love the lake, and some of the best days are spent there as a family. papa doesn’t hold back and splashes and dunks their kiddos while katniss is like “😬 peeta mellark i swear to god”, and she ends up getting dunked in herself while the babies shriek with laughter. walking back home with soaked hair and freckly cheeks, mama’s head on papa’s shoulder (she’s forgiven him for the roughhousing) and the kids carrying the picnic basket between them (they were about to fight over who got to carry it.)

and the toasts on papa’s shoulders 🥺 they have to take turns of course, but when they’re little it’s like the top of the world and they can reach up and touch tree branches and guide papa where they want to go by pointing and laughing raucously when he jogs them over to their destination.

when katniss takes her kiddos hiking, papa is always sure to pack them a bunch of little snacks and notes along with them. flasks of lemonade and iced water, little bite sized cakes and trail mixes. cold chicken left over from dinner and sliced fruits for them to munch as they go on their way. mama points out any special geographical features and tells stories of her time in the woods with her father, which the toasties love to hear about 🥺

[apothecarinomicon]

Spring week 1 part 1

I’m not quite sure how to begin.

I’m not typically one for journaling but it would appear to be part of the gig, as it were. I found this book—the one I’m writing in, heavy and musty and leather-bound—sitting on the table when I arrived, open to a blank page. There are at least a thousand pages filled before it, and no matter how many blank pages I flip past this one I can’t reach the back cover without closing the book entirely.

Mòrag told me things that present themselves for investigation here tend to be worth exploring, and if my gut tells me what’s right not to stray from its guidance. But I’m getting ahead of myself—you don’t even know who I am.

My name is Fionn Gill, and I’m a witch. I know, I know, but I don’t get into all that “warlock” “wizard” shit. It’s just a way to separate and belittle the same practice based solely on the gender of the practitioner, in my opinion. My specialty lies in potion-making, though I’m not very experienced. I’ve really only just finished my training—I’m from Huntsmanland and they’re not nearly as magically-inclined there as they are in High Rannoc. This is the first part of the country I’ve visited other than my tutor’s homestead and I must say, it hasn’t made the most stellar impression.

My tutor Edith received a letter stating that services would be required in the town of Greenmoor, and since the letter didn’t specify her services, she sent me to take care of it. I don’t know if she expected it to be an indefinite position, but here we are.

I didn’t bring a lot with me—just enough for the journey. It was about all I could carry walking. I arrived in Greenmoor with just about the clothes on my back, hoping they had an apothecary of their own so I could get this over with.

I’ve never really been one for small towns, and nor do they have much love for me. I’ve always thought I was meant for adventure—movement, action, peril, all of it. Small town life just feels so… stagnant. Nothing changes, no one grows or changes or has anything interesting to talk about. It’s enough to drive you mad.

Not to mention the natural suspicion of outsiders. I could see it on Mòrag McKinney’s face, even as she greeted me at the edge of town in her official capacity as mayor. Her hair was done up in a huge bun of thick braids on top of her head—a hairstyle with a formality at odds with her armored clothing.

She seemed surprised when I told her I was the witch. That’s not uncommon—like most intellectual and healing work, witchcraft is traditionally the domain of women. Even in the relatively forward-thinking country of High Rannoc, I tend to get some variation on ‘oh, how progressive!’ when I tell people my vocation. Often if you get a man doing witchcraft, his neighbors will whisper certain things about him. My neighbors back home were whispering those things about me anyway, so that wasn’t much of a hurdle to me.

Mòrag (she insisted I call her by her first name once we’d been properly introduced) gave me a brief tour of Greenmoor. It is, to put it lightly, tiny. I’d estimate a population around fifty. Near everyone has a job that serves an internal function to the community, with maybe the exception of the innkeeper. There are blacksmiths, miners, a carpenter, a tanner… she didn’t indicate any artists or poets or anything of that sort to me, which was disheartening. Even when I thought I would only be here briefly, I was hoping to enjoy the finer things the locals had to offer. The closest this town comes is a library, but I sorely doubt they have any kind of collection of works by local authors.

Mòrag pointed out all the magical resources in town, and some of them impressed me—the lunar tower and ritual circle in particular looked useful. She did not show me any apothecary, and following her aforementioned advice, I took that to mean there wasn’t one. Can’t wait to go out and experience the joys of foraging in the wilderness myself.

Once we’d gone through the entire village, she showed me to the cottage where I’ll be staying. It’s a little ways away from the town proper, down a walking path through some trees. It’s little more than a one-room thing, with only the washroom closed off from the rest of the space. The walls and door are made of dark wood, and the outside still has bark attached in many places. The roof is sloped and overgrown with moss and ivy. Inside the main room there is a bed, a large set of shelves which ought to have reagents and potion-making materials on them but are mostly bare, and a table on which this book sits. The washroom has a tub and a latrine—no plumbing to be found. Out back sits the remains of a garden, only one plot of which looks salvageable. A ways back into the trees there’s a creek. Most of the rest of the clearing is in the early stages of becoming overgrown, with trees and bushes and flowers starting to stretch themselves out and remembering how to be wild.

Mòrag told me the witch who was here before me was a bit of a recluse. No one in town knew very much about her, and she seemed to prefer it that way. They came to her for her healing potions and never made it past small talk and kept inviting her to parties and festivals even though she never attended. And then one day nearly everyone in town woke up with a gift from her—the farmers received her animals, the barkeep her ferments, the innkeeper and bakers her crops. As the townspeople tallied their gifts they realized it amounted to nearly everything she owned. They went together to her cottage to ask her why she’d given it all away, and found her cottage—this cottage—empty. The ensuing search turned up no body, no note, not a shred of evidence to speak of. It was as if she’d disappeared into thin air. As the townsfolk talked and wondered what had happened, they quickly realized no one knew her well enough to provide any real insight. They couldn’t even come to a consensus on what her name was.

They had quickly moved on to discussing the more pressing issue: the town was lacking a healer. The general store owner had worked with my tutor Edith in years prior (Edith loved to tell stories of the time she spent pursuing the culinary arts). Thus, the letter and thus, my presence.

Mòrag told me she hoped I might be more engaged in the community than my predecessor. I decided to refrain from telling her not to get her hopes up, and instead expressed my confusion: I’d thought this was a single gig, that I was to heal someone of their illness and then leave.

She disabused me of that notion with rather more intensity than I think was warranted.

She told me that unless my predecessor reappeared, I was all they had. She said Edith had spoken highly of my abilities in her return letter (I doubted that—Edith never spoke highly of anyone). She told me I would receive a base pay of 20 silver per cure to start, and that if I did the townsfolk well and they grew to like me, they’d most certainly be willing to pay more. She told me that the folks of Greenmoor were good people, even if they were a bit disaster-prone and some of them could make good use of a little more common sense.

And, well, how do you say no to that?

When I asked where I would be getting my materials, she told me the areas surrounding Greenmoor were rich in natural resources. So it will be as I feared. I’m glad I brought my off-road boots.

Mòrag left me to get settled in and I immediately took stock. There are no reagents on the shelves (of course not! Why would there be?), but I did find a cauldron, mortar and pestle, and a copper alembic (which is used for distilling)—so at least once I have the reagents I’ll be able to do some basic cooking with them. I also found a small leather-bound book with vague descriptions of some of the areas surrounding the village. I should be able to cross-reference it with my notes on the environments where useful reagents can be found to make searching for materials a bit less painful.

I pulled a matted tangle of weeds out of the garden plot, but it looks like whatever was planted underneath already shriveled away to nothing. Well, at least the land’s clear now.

One thing that I knew I’d need if I was going to be able to handle this was a familiar. I’ve never been one for conjuration but in this case it’s an unfortunate necessity. I was supposed to be getting one within the next few weeks at Edith’s anyway, and I already knew the process. You’re supposed to have a more experienced witch observe your first time, but that’s just academic formality—there’s nothing actually dangerous about the process.

I found what looks to be a quarter cran basket (was my predecessor into fishing…?) under the bed, and set out around the property collecting small rocks and flowers and toadstools that had the right kinds of vibration. They were for use in the ritual, but also collecting them was a good start to cleaning the property up. Because if I’m going to be living here, it cannot stay looking like this.

I took the basket into the woods near the creek and laid its contents out in a circle as wide as I was tall. Before I placed each one down, I held it for a moment and asked it to help me with my task. Then, I sat in the center of my circle and closed my eyes and tried to meditate. Clearing my head has never been my strong suit, but I’m usually able to fudge the process enough to do what needs doing. This time took a bit longer than usual but eventually I managed. I felt my energy (spirit, consciousness, whatever) radiating out from me, pink and orange and bright and loud, first to the edges of the circle and then beyond. All of it asked a single question and listened for the answer.

The response came from much closer than anticipated, when I felt something small hop onto my knee.

I opened my eyes and looked down to see a frog staring back at me, blinking lazily and making small, guttural noises. Her back was green and rough and slimy. One of her eyes was milky, pointing vaguely off to the left, while the other gazed straight at me. The tips of her toes (three on each foot) edged closer to brown than the rest of her body.

Having clearly presented herself, she now asked if my gut said we would be good partners.

I’ve named her Ailean.

And now here I am, writing all of this down. I don’t know if I’ll be able to manage this every day. Whoever reads this may have to settle for a few times a week. With that said, I do think I’d like to go back and read what my predecessor wrote. Maybe it’ll give a clue as to where she’s gone, and help me escape this position sooner. She seems to have been quite the prolific writer—getting through her logs could take months, especially if the townsfolk keep me particularly busy with their various woes. I’ll have to start reading sooner rather than later.

Speak of the devil, there’s a knock on my door. It hasn’t even been a full day and I might already have my first customer. I’ll finish this later.

⇦●〇●⇨

[isolaradiale]

(full size comic image can be found here!)                                          ☆               ☆                ☆

“And… that should do it.” 𝛿Caeli sighed, punctuating his words with a few taps of the keyboard and putting his drink back down on the desk.

“Look this over for me?” “Do I look like Bellatrix to you? You think I can just read code with my own eyeballs and say whether this should work or not?” “I wouldn’t sell yourself short.” He answered with a wry smile. A nice way of saying Aspidiske wasn’t getting out of this one, she regrettably realized. Moving from her spot with a groan, she propped her elbows against the back of the old man’s desk chair with a bored expression.

“Yeah yeah, looks great--Hold it. This isn’t even the same thing you were typing twenty minutes ago.” “Ah, very good! See, I knew you were capable of reading it with your eyeballs, as you said.”

“You think you’re funny don’t you, Grandpa.”

Gritting her teeth to block out the sound of a hearty laugh, she scrolled through each line, reaching a couple times to tap something on the keyboard in front of him.

“...What’s that line there.” “A choice bank.” “What for?” “I thought it might be courteous to allow them to decide where they want to go.” “Why.” “Well, if people choose an environment they like, they’re more apt to explore it, yes? Why choose someone who isn’t equipped to handle it?” “Because it’s fun watching them squirm, that’s why. I’m changing this.” “Hey--” “Oh nooo, I’m gonna hit Run! Ohhh nooo!” “Now see here, I--”

The next sequence of events all passed within seconds. 𝛿Caeli’s fingers hit ‘undo’, Aspidiske moved to push his hand away with her own and deployed the RUN button with the other. Both collided with the glass on the table, knocking its mostly full contents onto the desk. A mixture of ice and sweet liquid flooded between the keys and into the cracks of the dashboard as Aspidiske pulled her companion backward sharply, saving him the sting of electric shock. The monitor split into several bright, jarring colors before attempting to pull itself back together, and numbers and symbols jumped from place to place before everything went blank for a few agonizing seconds. Both exhaled when the monitor whirred back to life, with the following prompt flickering and glitching across the screen.

                                        [ OPERATION S.H.O.R.E ]                                             [ STATUS: ACTIVE]

Not too long after that ordeal, the click of the intercom and a long, disappointed sigh cut the silence. The deadly even voice of Pleiades spoke into the room. “You two. In my office. Now.”

                                            ☆               ☆                ☆ Your phones switch on by themselves; the cafe televisions turn on, the daily news changes, your phone calls all display the same message over any visual media they can. But the person who appears in the broadcast is an elderly man, sitting at a table in a semi-professional manner, and a smaller woman behind him cackling.

“Hello! Hello, good evening, everyone. This is the first time we’ve met like this, ah? It’s good to see you on a personal level--” “As personal as a giant broadcast can be.” “...Ahem. You can call me Delta Caeli. Behind me is Aspidiske.” “Don’t drag me into this, old man.” “I’m here to report that there are several islands off the coast of Spirale that have recently cleared from the mist. Given what happened a couple months ago when a mysterious object appeared, we’re unsure if the GPU has a hand in this or not. I’ll be frank with you, my friends, there aren’t enough of us to explore the islands ourselves. That’s where you all come in, I hope!” “Not like you all have that much of a choice, after all. Cooperation is key, or something, something...” “On your devices, I’ve sent something of a ticket for your island excursions. There are four that we’ve monitored in total, so you have the option of being transported to any one of those. Once we’ve collected enough information on the islands, we’ll bring you right back, safe and sound. We’ll be here, monitoring your progress as--”

From off-camera, something seems to spark and pop menacingly, along with a hissing noise that makes the old man lose a bit of color.

“...Well, I trust you’ll do fine! If you’ll excuse me.”

He grabs his cane, and with a bit of effort, 𝛿Caeli rises from his chair. Aspidiske takes the seat in front of the camera.

“Uh, guess that’s one way to get the job don-”

The monitors cut the broadcast abruptly, and on your devices, a prompt appears.

[ Welcome to Operation SHORE: Surviving Hazards Of Relaxing Escapes! Please choose your island destination: ]

Haugst Isle

Resources: Plentiful (manufactured)

Shelter: Provided

Danger rating: High

Tags: Monsters, Prison, Laboratory

Nommin Isle

Resources: Plentiful (natural)

Shelter: None

Danger rating: Low

Tags: Tropical, Deserted, Beautiful

Foss Isle

Resources: Plentiful (natural)

Shelter: Minimal (caves)

Danger rating: Moderate

Tags: Volcano, Dinosaurs, Jungle

Volaat Isle

Resources: Moderate-Low (luxury)

Shelter: Moderate (abandoned ships)

Danger rating: Low

Tags: Sunken ships, Storms, Small

(Detailed descriptions of each island can be found Here!)

Upon choosing your destination, your phone screen will glitch out for a few seconds, and you’ll suddenly and instantly vanish from your place in Spirale. As soon as you disappear, you reappear on the island you chose (or perhaps a different island than what you picked altogether) with your island-issued cell phone as your only belonging.

                                           ☆               ☆                ☆ 

So, what’s happened?

Your characters have suddenly appeared on one of the mystery islands outside of Spirale, and must survive and thrive on the island they’ve chosen/landed on. This includes things like finding food and water, making shelter, and fending off the elements and creatures that you encounter during your extended stays.

Am I limited to one island?

Nope! Due to the system shorting and glitching out on occasion, it’s entirely possible for your character to wind up on a completely different island in the blink of an eye. It’s also possible to build some kind of raft or ship and sail to one of the other islands! (If you know how to sail and the weather is kind to you…)

You can also use means like flying, freezing a bridge, riding a dolphin, or whatever your powers would allow you to do to get from one island to the other.

HOWEVER if you sail too far away from the islands, you’ll run into the mists that usually surround Spirale, and you’ll succumb to the safe effects they have under normal circumstances and sail right into Davy Jones’ Locker… (...and die.)

How do I get back to Spirale?

It’s impossible to get from the islands to Spirale by any means of transport (sailing, flying, teleporting, etc.)

However, if you’ve met a grisly end and died on one of the islands, you’ll respawn in Spirale, and won’t be able to return to the islands.

Do our phones work?

They sure do! You can even still use the internet on them, if you’ve met the rank requirement to get it. They charge with solar power and are waterproof, but they won’t survive being smashed or broken, so don’t do anything reckless with them!

Do I have to go to an island to participate in the event?

Not necessarily. As long as you have a thread or drabble that’s related to the event, that will count toward participation. (For example, if your character in Spirale City were to make a phone call to another character stuck on one of the islands, that would count.)

Do I have to explore and survive and put my muse in danger?

Not at all! This event is designed to be versatile; you can take the opportunity to build from the ground up and bond with your friends (and enemies?) and have a laid-back vibe if you want. You can have a dangerous expedition to find resources and shelter with peril at every corner, too. You can even ignore the survival aspect and finally have that cool one-on-one duel with your rival atop a rocky cliff during a lightning storm where no one will interfere!

You can help or hinder anyone who arrives on the island and make new friends or enemies. You can learn to fish, hunt or forage for food. You can play in the ocean or run for your life. It’s up to how you want to play the event!

Do drabbles count?

Yup! A drabble of 500+ words will get you credit for this event.

Is there an event reward for this one?

The reward is the friendships you made along the way… and maybe a cool sea shell.

How long will the event run?

This event will run until Friday, September 4th,  at 11:59:59 pm EST!

[its-sixxers]

💡🎁🥦 For whoever you like.

Let's give Tandreth some love for this one. :) 💡 - How does your OC enact plans? Do they plan down to the smallest details, or do the wing it?

Experience has taught him it's good to be a little bit of both. Tandreth focuses most of his energy on 'casing' locations, from burglarly to battles. Being knowledgable about your environment and surroundings cuts out a lot of chaos when things hit the fan. And they will, in his mind - so the more rigid the plan, the worse. Having a good framework to improvise on is his ideal.

🎁 - What kind of gift-giver are they? Do they give thoughtful gifts? Expensive gifts? Practical gifts?

He's used to giving gifts as a way to either manipulate people or soften the blow when he skips town. As such, they're usually on the expensive side. When it comes to loved ones, though, he can be incredibly thoughtful and sensitive - though these gifts are usually 'accidentally' left somewhere for the receiver to find so he can have plausible deniability. He's not very good at those kinds of feelings.

🥦 - Does your OC eat healthily or live off junk food?

If his heart (and bank account) could take it he'd live off of alcohol and rich food for the rest of his life. Unfortunately both are expensive and hard to get when running around the continent, so he's stuck eating whatever he can hunt and forage for while on the road.

[sandcreekfarm]

10 Facts About Goat Eyes You Should Surprise

Goat eyes do not resemble the round pupil we often see in humans, neither do they have similarities with the longitudinal pupil of cats or snakes.

Why do goat eyes look so alien with such horizontal rectangular pupils? Find your answer in this fact about goat eyes article.

1. Why do goat eyes look weird?

Scientists have concluded a trend that pupil shape and size in an animal’s eye play an extremely large role in the survival and evolution of species. For that reason, the strange shape of the goat’s eye is a sign of its position in the natural food chain.

Goats are one of the lucky animals to have evolved and adapted to their surroundings by horizontal and rectangular pupils. These weird eyes may look creepy, but this is how goats survive in the wild.

It helps the goats have a better and more discreet vision to defend themselves and adapt to their natural habitat.

2. Why do goats have rectangular pupils? 

Derived from the goat’s position in the food chain – the goat is a highly predatory herbivore – the animal needs to equip itself with a high level of self-defense to keep away from predators and avoid being hunted. The goat’s adaptation to a rectangular pupil is the smartest thing.

How do goats see with these weird-shaped eyes? The goat’s horizontal rectangular pupil is capable of helping this frail creature to do the following:

Goats have a broader field of view, which helps them identify threats from afar in order to respond promptly.

Goats are able to keep their view parallel to the ground while eating – this is important as they can still see horizontally across the horizon to get a good grasp of their surroundings even while bowing their heads.

Goats are able to see many directions at once with their pupils horizontally, and images on the horizontal plane are also clearer due to less light interference from unimportant directions.

Are these possibilities enough to make you jealous? This is how animals that are weaker in the battle for survival adapt to the environment.

Even currently living in a low-threat or dangerous grazing environment, the goat retains the strange shape of the eyes it inherited from its ancestors.

3. Are goats the only animals with rectangular pupils?

No, there are many other prey animals that have rectangular pupils, including sheep, octopuses, and toads.

In the wild, there are two species of animals that are common in the food chain: predators and prey.

Predators often have longitudinal pupils, such as cats or snakes. This characteristic pair of pupils can help predators better estimate the distance between themselves and their prey, thereby ambushing their prey with precision.

Whereas animals with horizontal pupils are usually herbivores – namely, herbivores that prey on other animals. It means goats are not the only animals that possess these rectangular pupils.

Whether they are foragers by day or at night, these vulnerable species keep the rectangular pupil shape to survey their surroundings with great precision, especially in terms of precise depth. This is because these species need time to hide predators in difficult terrain.

4. Can goats see in the dark?

Goats can see in the dark much better than humans. While other animals have vertical or round pupils, goats have horizontal rectangular pupils. This unique shape of pupils enables goats to see a really large surrounding area in the dark, which is nearly 360 degrees.

Moreover, goats’ eyes can control the proportion of light that goes into them. This helps them not only see and navigate in the dark but also prevent the risk of getting blinded by too bright sunlight in the day.

If goats catch a glimpse of a predator in the night, their pupils can show them the directions and routes that can help them avoid obstacles in the way.

Of course, their vision at night is not as good as in the daytime. Their vision is only good enough for them to know the surroundings, move around, identify movements and escape from predators in the dark.

5. Do goats need light at night?

Goats are capable of seeing well at night, therefore, they can manage themselves through the night without any risks of bumping into surrounding objects or getting lost.

You can leave them on their own in their barn at night without any types of the light source, but the barn should be equipped with firm fences so that the goats cannot escape away or get stolen or attacked by predators.

Nevertheless, although goats can see the predators in the dark, they cannot escape that easily. Therefore, having guard dogs may be necessary as some predators can break through the fences and attack the goats. Or ranchers can keep their goats inside a closed stall if the neighborhood has potential predators and the weather is severe.

6. Can goats see colors?

It is commonly believed that goats are color blinded as many people say yes to the question of “are goats color blind?”. Actually, they can actually distinguish a host of various colors.

This is the feature that enhances their recognition of the surroundings, such as the obstacles around them or potential predators that are coming at them, and helps them navigate better in the dark.

Goat eyes absorb light with two types of cone cells, which are the color receptors that lie in their retina. One is highly sensitive to blue light, while the other is to green light.

Humans have another type of cone cell which is red-light-sensitive. Thanks to this, humans can tell the difference between red, green, and yellow while color blinded humans and many animals including goats cannot distinguish red and green as they appear similar to yellow.

7. What colors do goats see?

Goats can see many colors including red, orange, yellow, violet, green, and blue. According to an experiment, orange is the color that they can distinguish the best and blue is the one that they are worst at distinguishing.

Experiments on male goats were carried out to determine their ability to see color. Orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple have been tested against different gray shades which are similar to luminance.

The result indicates that goats can distinguish between colors and gray shades. Error rates increase according to the following order: orange, then green, red, then yellow, purple, and finally blue.

8. Do goats have good eyesight?

Are you surprised when we say this fact about goat eyes: goats have extremely good eyesight?

In particular, you should know that goats have a very stable night vision and can recognize enemies in the dark. However, if you are raising goats, you should still take measures to protect your herd when it gets dark.

Some people often worry when they see goat eyes are green – they think goat eye colors affect their eyesight. When the goat’s eyes are green, it’s not because they are sick or infected, it’s just the dominant eye color gene in the goat inherited from the parents.

Goats do not experience deteriorating vision problems because of the color factor of the eyes.

9. How far can a goat see?

As you can see so far, not all eyes are born to be equal. The fact that a goat eyes’ design is a horizontal rectangular shape, these animals possess a better view compared to others.

The goat’s narrow horizontal pupil allows them to have a view beyond all wide-angle cameras: from 320 degrees to 340 degrees around, no need to move around. This may resemble the eyes of horses. However, goats don’t have the blind spot in the front as horses.

When it was dark, the goat’s eyesight could not see as far as day. They can only be seen clearly in the surrounding area. This is enough to allow them to move easily for food or hide in the dark, but not 100% safe because they cannot identify enemies from too far.

For this, the narrow longitudinal eyes of predators appear to be much more effective.

10. Can goat’s eyes replace humans?

For sure, you can transplant any kind of eyes, even from animals, for a blind human. The real question is: can people regain their eyesight after doing that?

Goat’s eyes replace to human? – Source: Buzzfeed.com

Long story short, this will not be of any use. Once the eye is removed from the eyeball, the optic nerve is completely cut off and current technology is not advanced enough to reconnect the goat eye with the human optic nerve.

Not to mention, as mentioned above, goat eyes lack some color receptors and are not as complex as the human eye, which leads to difficulties and complexity in transmitting nerve impulses. exactly.

It is clear that with such a transplant, the blood vessels will be connected stably and the goat’s eye can still exist in the human eyeball. However, you cannot see anything from this side of the eye, and if only for that, a glass eye can do it at a cheaper price.

In your opinion, according to the above facts, can the goat’s eye replace the human eye?

A final verdict

Are you surprised about your lovely goat after reading the facts about goat eyes above? Are you jealous of its special abilities? This is how all things in nature adapt and evolve.

If you found this post helpful, please show us your support!

Source: 10 Facts About Goat Eyes You Should Surprise

source https://sandcreekfarm.net/facts-about-goat-eyes/

[outofangband]

Any hc‘s on environment in western beleriand/nargothrond? 👀

This wasn't exactly a flora and fauna post (though I can do one!) but I still thought I should put the usual flora and fauna info! Especially since I want to explore more environment and geography in general. 

flora and fauna of Arda

Disclaimer: I used both what we can extrapolate is likely indigenous to the region based on descriptions of the landscape and climate as well as my own headcanons and inspirations and reference books on similar habitats as well as books like The Atlas of Middle Earth and The Flora of Middle Earth

I really love working on and researching these! and as always feel free to ask more, even if I’ve already done a place I’d always enjoy going into more detail of tacking a more specific kind of life there

I go into Flora and fauna of Talath Dirnen and the River Narog here

-Western Beleriand was divided from the East by the River Sirion. It faced the sea, Belegaer, to the West on the coast of Falas. 

-Several rivers ran to estuaries, bays, and the ocean here including the river Nenning and Brithon (when I post my flora and fauna of the Havens of Falas I’ll talk more about this.)

-There were also smaller rivers, tributaries to Sirion including Taeglin (sometimes spelled Teiglin), Mauduin, Rivil, and Narog (which has its own tributaries, Ginglith and Ringwil). 

-Parts of the river Narog flow underground and have species not found elsewhere in Beleriand outside of the deeper realms of Angband rarely considered by its own inhabitants. On a similar note, Nargothrond is one of the few places outside these deeper parts of Angband (not including marine life) where bioluminescence is found. There are a few bioluminescent species of algae and moss in Menengroth and Nan Emloth as well. 

 -West Beleriand consisted of lowlands and bottomlands (the usually flatter floodlands along a watercourse), plains and hilly areas and moorlands. There were also more scattered forested areas and woodlands, as well as the denser Forest of Brethil. 

-The climate was mild though humid without either harsh winters or hotter summers. Colder fronts did occasionally arise from the Encircling Mountains however. The coastal regions, especially around Nevrast, are somewhat warmer and gentler. 

-Biodiversity is highest in these regions and in the surrounding marshlands and smaller forests. 

-Farming could be difficult at times and much food was gathered through foraging and cultivating existing plants. There were seeds traded and grown however especially in Brethil but also along the plains outside of Nargathrond. These were not considered parts off the kingdom itself but were at times tended to by its elves. Edible flowers, root vegetables, and some orchard trees were the most commonly grown. -One estimate from The Lost Road puts the region at 99 leagues across at its widest -Nargothrond is somewhat cooler in the underground than the surrounding plains. However its walls can also protect against the worst winters.  It is lit by lanterns and by certain bioluminescent plants. There are windows in key areas that allow sunlight to filter into some of the larger halls. Much inspiration of the architecture and environment comes from Menengroth.  -There are small gardens within Nargothrond, some of species that do not require direct sunlight, some stationed in the areas where sunlight filters in. In one of the larger halls with windows on the ceiling, butterflies aid in the pollination of the garden. -A small tributary of the river Narog flows directly through one of the great halls of Nargothrond. Its flora and fauna remain untouched by the elves and algae and aquatic plants as well as small fish, salamanders in their early stages, and stranger creatures are visible to see for those who walk along it. 

(feel free to ask more questions!)

[bills-pokedex]

If this has been asked before, than please ignore. But I was wondering how different eeveelutions would raise their baby eevees.

You would think people would ask me more about eevee facts, but somehow, they don’t—which is to say, this is a new question, believe it or not.

That said, most eeveelutions take care of their young in similar ways, oddly enough. It’s because, ultimately, they’re taking care of the same pokémon. Of course, it’s also because many eeveelutions actually share similarities when it comes to the way they live their lives.

For the most part, all eeveelutions create their nests on dry land, usually underground, where they can achieve a sort of climate-controlled environment. This allows their kits to hatch and adjust to life without much of an issue. The slightest difference in temperature or humidity within the den could trigger an eevee’s adaptive genetics, which in turn could result in rather painful mutations that could kill a litter, so it’s important for eevee eggs to be laid in a highly controlled environment. (As a note, but once the kits are a few hours or ideally a day old, they’re stable enough to undergo evolution, but before then, it’s highly risky. Please keep this in mind if you plan on raising eevee of your own.)

Beyond that, there are of course some obvious differences, depending on which eeveelution is parenting the kits in question. Each eeveelution will often try to teach their kits how to survive the way they do, as if to encourage their kits to evolve in the same way. This is often because wild eeveelution will often live in particular environments and know well enough that their forms are often best suited for their ecosystems. 

For example, as you’ve seen from that viral post, vaporeon will take their kits out onto the water. This exposes them to a watery environments, teaches them to float, and—most importantly—keeps them out of reach of terrestrial predators. In addition, the mother will often teach them the basics of fishing or hunting from the water, as well as basic swimming techniques, essentially arming them for advanced training when they’re close to ready for evolution.

Glaceon actually treat their young similarly, in that they keep their kits close as they hunt and work on exposing them to the extreme environments they normally live in. However, rather than puffing their kits’ coats up to keep them afloat, glaceon will do so in order to ensure their kits are adequately warm. They’ll also teach their kits how to dig, either to find prey or to create makeshift dens for warmth. Hunting is especially important for glaceon, as food can be scarce where they thrive, so they’ll spend more time teaching their young hunting techniques than any other eeveelution. Eevee raised by glaceon are often more inclined to practice pouncing and stalking whenever they’re captured and tamed.

Leafeon also teaches their young how to interact with their environments, but unlike the other eeveelutions, it’s often to learn how to hide and blend in with their surroundings. Leafeon will often coat their kits with a mixture of mud and moss in order to keep them safe and cover their scents. Additionally, as leafeon are more herbivorous than the other eeveelutions, foraging is an essential skill, including digging for roots and locating berries, plants, and fungus that are safe for their species to eat. Likewise, as leafeon need to sunbathe at some point during the day, they’ll also teach their young how to scout out safe spots to rest and relax. This last act comprises a lot of a leafeon’s day, so seeing a leafeon lounge while their young climb over them or practice pouncing around them isn’t an unusual sight at all.

Espeon and umbreon are a little more communal than most eeveelution, so while other eeveelution may raise their young without any assistance, it’s rare to see the same from those particular two. That is to say, two espeon, two umbreon, one of each, or multiple of these two species will often be found close to their dens. They’re also highly protective of their young, so if you spot a wild espeon or umbreon, never go looking for eevee unless you befriend that wild eeveelution first, as doing otherwise will call all of the espeon or umbreon in the area to your location simultaneously. Eevee raised by these two will often be friendlier, but they’ll also be more prone to attacking in teams, as they’re often encouraged to travel and hunt in packs.

By contrast, sylveon are often solo hunters, and thus, if they mate and have young together, they’ll do so in strict duos if both parents are sylveon. If only one parent is a sylveon, while they’ll allow their mates to try teaching their young how to live as alternate eeveelutions, they’ll often take their kits out early each day on their own and spend as much time as possible teaching them how to hunt like a sylveon. This includes teaching them how to stalk and charm prey, as well as how to quickly kill prey they’ve caught. Most eevee that were raised by sylveon will have well-developed fairy-type abilities ... as well as mischievous streaks far wider than any other eevee.

That leaves flareon and jolteon. As these two often live in particularly extreme environment, they’ll often actually leave their young behind in their burrows while they go out hunting. (As a side note, flareon will often make their dens deep underground, where temperatures are cooler compared to the desert heat where it thrives. Jolteon, meanwhile, will often make their homes in holes carved out of cliff faces, in caves, or in rugged dens made out of mounds of rock, all on higher ground. This is to keep the kits safe from any possible flooding, as jolteon will make their homes in places prone to flash flooding and lightning storms.) Only when the kits are older, hardier, and almost ready to evolve will they be taught to hunt; before then, their parents will bring kills back to their burrows to share with their litters.

[jopestkilkenya]

Jiggers Control in Kenya

Jiggers Control in Kenya

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Jiggers control in Kenya, jigger flea control services in Kenya, prevention and cure to jiggers infestation in Kenya

Jiggers: A painful Infestation

Many people living in tropical or sub-tropical regions are exposed to the risk of a debilitating infestation of these tiny sand-fleas, yet little is known of their epidemiology. New study from Kenya shows how common they can be.

Jiggers Control Nairobi Kenya

A jigger infestation, known as tungiasis, can be very painful; I speak from personal experience. This tiny sand-flea has a variety of other colloquial names including nigua, chigoe and bicho de pé (Portugues for foot-bug). The last one, and its scientific name, Tunga penetrans, giving clues to its habit, as the adult female burrows into the skin, usually of the foot.Originally endemic in pre-Columbian Andean society and the West Indies jiggers were spread to other tropical and sub-tropical regions via shipping routes. They are now present in the Caribbean, Central and South America, sub-Saharan Africa, and India, but not in Europe or North America.

The jigger life cycle

The lifecycle of the jigger flea occurs in sandy environments. After the jigger flea develops into adult form, male and female fleas will forage on warm-blooded animals or humans for a tasty banquet of blood. Although males and females feed on blood, only the females burrow into the skin which primarily causes the symptoms associated with tungiasis. Since the fleas cannot jump very far, the most common areas of involvement are the feet where direct contact with fleas occurs. Specifically, the skin part of the toe surrounding the nail is the most common site. However, the webs of the toes or soles of the feet can also be involved.Initially, a little black spot appears where the female burrows into the skin. At this point, infected individuals don’t usually notice any symptoms or other signs that they are infected. After a short time, perhaps a few days, a small white bump will develop in the spot where the female invaded the skin. The bump will progressively get larger, and an area of redness and inflammation will occur around the white bump. During this stage, the patient usually develops some itching and pain. As the female resides in the skin, she continues to lay eggs over about a two-week period and then dies. The death of the female flea is marked by a black scab or crust covering the initial point of entry into the skin. Due to the invasive nature of the flea, infection with bacteria or other microbes can occur and result in complications. The worst and most dreaded complication is rampant infection requiring amputation.Although most people can recover from the infestation and heal without having any treatment, the signs and symptoms can mimic other ailments.

Jiggers, What You Should Know about Jiggers

A jigger is a small parasitic flea that burrows into the skin of a warm-blooded host before laying eggs. They generally attack feet or hands. At first, the jigger appears as a small black dot on the skin. As the female’s abdomen fills with blood and eggs, a bump forms underneath the skin, which is often painful and itchy and makes walking incredibly difficult.With her back end still sticking out of the host’s body, the female releases her eggs then eventually dies. But did you know? Only female jiggers burrow into the skin. If left untreated, jiggers can lead to deadly secondary infections or even amputation. People suffering with jiggers usually attempt to remove them with safety pins, thorns, or other sharp, and often unsanitary, objects.

Jiggers, Signs of Jiggers Infestation in Kenya

Jigger Infestation Signs in Kenya Include:

Live Flea Burrows

Frequent itching

Pain in joints

Black pin head dot

Deformed lower limbs and coldness

Jigger larvae live a few centimeters under sand or soil, feeding on organic matter. They are often found inside dwellings with mud floors. The larvae molt to adults about 1mm in size and move to the skin of a variety of mammals including rats, domestic animals and humans. (jiggers control Nairobi Kenya)Unlike males, the

females burrow

into the skin leaving just the tip of their abdomen exposed, thus enabling them to exchange gasses, defecate and mate. The females feed on blood by inserting their proboscis into dermal capillaries. They quickly swell as they become full of eggs which are shed into the environment, after which the females die.

Pathology

Penetration of the skin causes intense itching and is followed by inflammation and acute pain. The jigger is evident as a

small swollen

lesion, with a black dot at the center, which can grow to the size of a pea.Severe pathology following an infestation is caused by bacteria entering the skin when the jigger penetrates. These infections can lead to abscess formation, tissue necrosis and gangrene. Tungiasis has also been associated with tetanus, possible due to the entry of the soil pathogen, Clostridium tetani into the wound. In addition, Wolbachia bacteria, present in the jigger, release inflammation-inducing lipopolysaccharides into the surrounding tissue when the females die.The risk of acute pathology can be prevented by removal of the jigger with a

sterile needle

and disinfection of the affected area. However, in poor rural or shanty-town settings non-sterile objects are often used to winkle the jigger out, including thorns or non-sterile pins, thereby introducing more bacteria.

Epidemiology

Jiggers are endemic in many tropical and sub-tropical countries, but the epidemiology of the disease is poorly understood. In common with most neglected tropical diseases, the children and the elderly are the most likely to be affected by tungiasis. A recent study by Ruth Monyenye Nyangacha and colleagues aimed to asses risk factors and the health burden associated with this disease.

Tungiasis in Kenya

The study was based in 21 villages in Vihiga County, Kenya, and assessed 437 participants aged over 5 years for the presence of a jigger infestation. Socio-economic factors were assessed via a questionnaire. The area is densely populated and almost 80% of people

live in houses

with earthen floors. The soil in all study village was a sandy clay.Just over 20% of participants were found to be infested. Five of the villages had no cases of tungiasis and three represented hot spots for infestation. Village altitude did not affect distribution of infestations in the study area, however factors associated with low economic status factors were significant, including:

Going barefoot or wearing open toed footwear

Illiteracy

Lack of toilet facilities or electricity

Washing without soap

Houses with earthen floors

Having a common resting place in the house

Having rats around the house

Importantly, 45% of the participants in the study did not know how tungiasis is transmitted. It was associated with witchcraft, being cursed or, in the elderly, impending death.The study also showed that 5-14-year-olds were particularly vulnerable, probably as they play barefooted around their houses and are also exposed to infestation when attending schools with earthen floors.The authors recognize the modest scale of their study and point out several factors that could be important in future studies such as the inclusion of under-fives, topography and soil type studies and the conduction of longitudinal studies that may identify cause and effect, looking at one variable at a time.These findings reinforce previous studies performed in other areas and point to the likelihood of transmission occurring where people gather to rest or sit for long periods, as jigger eggs could be shed there, and the whole lifecycle take place in that location. In particular, the finger points to poor rural schools which do not usually have concrete floors in the classrooms. (jiggers control Nairobi Kenya)The report highlights preventative measures such as the need for education regarding transmission and hygiene, the importance of wearing protective footwear and the possibility of spraying the floor of areas were transmission could occur with insecticides.The World Health Organization does not officially recognize tungiasis as a neglected tropical disease and no systematic data on disease occurrence is available. Perhaps it is time this is remedied. Meanwhile avoid wearing open toed footwear if visiting areas where transmission could be occurring. (jiggers control Nairobi Kenya)

Jiggers, How to Get Rid of Jigger Flea & Tungiasis in Kenya

The following strategies have been identified for elimination of jiggers and jigger flea infestations.Jiggers, Getting Rid of Jigger Flea & Tungiasis in Kenya Include:

Clean the area by soaking in a basin filled with soap and water.

Use potassium permanganate and soak well.

Dry the feet and hands.

Generously apply Vaseline to the area.

Use of shoes when and wherever possible.

[elisende]

Predators (1/2)

Characters: Halsin/FOC Rating: M Words: 2655 Long before becoming the first druid of the Emerald Grove, Halsin is a hotheaded, aimless youth struggling to control his anger and alienation. When a mysterious druid saves him from a great bear, he sees a path to another life. Even the High Forest was a lonely place for a wood elf with no kinfolk to speak of--none still living. Most of his kind had left for Evermeet or for the teeming cities of the east. Neither appealed to Halsin.

He roamed the great forest that was his birthright, scavenging what scraps could be found on the edges of the human settlements that encroached, year by year, like some choking vine.

And he grew from adolescent to adult over the twenty winters of his wandering, broadening across the shoulders, shooting up to a height that others seemed to find incredible. The humans around the villages he haunted took to calling him the Tailhleach, “the tall walker,” in their strange tongue. They feared him as some sort of half-man, half-beast, a spirit protector of the forest. The myth was a useful one: it meant he went mostly undisturbed, except when the occasional foolhardy youth took it upon himself to hunt down the beast. But Halsin had his own ways of staying the sword arms and bows of overeager hunters.

These conquests, too, became part of his legend.

Now fully grown, he had become, in a word, complacent. There was nothing in the forest, man or beast, that could challenge him. So he thought, with all the arrogance of the young.

Halsin’s appetites often led him from one part of the forest to the other in search of delicacies: truffles, chestnut honey, blackberries. Today he was foraging for mushrooms: the orange rilled ones so good they could be eaten raw, as soon as they were dusted off. The mushrooms preferred this part of the wood, the wet brambly hillside that was often choked in fog.

Nothing seemed amiss as he scanned the forest floor for their distinctive convex caps.

He was deaf to the crackling of dead leaves, the faint but audible snap of a twig, the rustle of disturbed undergrowth and even the snort of the curious bear as it approached his crouching back.

It was only when the beast’s breath disturbed the hair on Halsin’s head that he whirled around, startling the great bear. For one moment that felt like a century, they stared, nose to nose and eye to eye: elf and bear, locked in the fatal glance of prey and hunter.

Then the bear roared, its fear exploding to rage like dry tinder under lightning’s forked tongue. Halsin was so close that he could see the ridges on the bear’s bright canine teeth, taste its meaty breath. A young bear, he thought stupidly. He began backing away, all the while watching the beast.

The great bear stood on its hind feet and flattened its ears. It made as though to charge but it was only a feint, a test of Halsin’s resolve. He stopped. Anger building alongside his terror, he bellowed at it, swung the slim oaken branch he always carried with him.

But the bear wouldn’t be intimidated. It had no inkling of his fearsome reputation. His rage was only fuel for its own.

It swiped, claws scraping Halsin’s flesh from his hairline down to his left eyebrow. His vision went red and by instinct he swung his club. He only hit the bear by luck, the same luck that had saved his left eye.

It backed away and lowered its head, ears flattened. This would be a true charge and he stood little chance of surviving it, given the bear’s size.

He stood, waiting, in a defensive crouch, holding out his makeshift club, blood pouring down his face. But just as the bear started to charge, a warning growl sounded from the chestnut grove beyond.

Almost comically, the bear quirked its head. The growls continued and the bear moaned in reply, as though in conversation with it.

The rage melted from the beast’s eyes and it pawed the air as an elven woman appeared in the gloom. She lowed at the bear once more and the bear, incredibly, seemed almost to chuckle.

“What are you--”

“He says you’re after his mushrooms again. Whenever you come here, you leave nothing for the others who reside in this wood. He thinks it's rather rude,” the elf said. As she came closer, he saw the crest of Silvanus on her broach. A druid, then.

He laughed incredulously, wiping the blood from his face. “I’m rude? That bear--”

“His name is Sage.”

Halsin paused, collecting his thoughts. The druid was very lovely, as a moonrise over a pine forest is lovely, or a bird of prey on the wing, or the river’s rush after first thaw. Hers was a stark, unadorned beauty. “That bear-- alright, Sage--was about to kill me,” he finally said, failing to keep his voice level. He was still trembling with his fear and anger. The two never could be parted, for him; they were like smoke and flame.

“His kind have been killed for far less,” she said. Her tone was neutral but he could see a warning glint in her amber eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked, his curiosity overtaking his consternation. “There is no Circle for twenty leagues.”

“No indeed,” the druid said. He could tell she did not enjoy speaking of herself; her words took a rote quality. “I’m posted here for a task that has taken me some years, and will take more still to complete.” She tilted her head, looking inquiringly at him. “Like Sage, I’ve also noticed that you claim more than your share from this wood.”

“You’ve been watching me.”

“You are hard to avoid. You trample through the wood like it's your bedchamber.”

He colored ever so slightly when she said the word bedchamber. The bear, Sage, groaned as if in agreement. The druid walked over and patted him on the head, whispering something in his rounded ears. Halsin felt absurdly jealous at the intimacy, even as his wounds began to throb.

As was often the case, he found himself speaking before he knew precisely what he was going to say. He knew only that he was drawn to the druid. “I can help you with your task, whatever it is, if you teach me in exchange. I would like to learn the ways of the druids.”

She didn’t laugh outright, at least. The druid seemed even to consider it. But then, finally, she said: “No, I haven’t the inclination for such an arrangement. I live alone by choice as much as by necessity.”

And without so much as a fare thee well, she vanished back into the wood. Sparing a quick backwards glance at the now mellow bear sniffing the orange mushrooms, Halsin followed.

*

He trekked for more than half the day until evening fell. The druid doubled back three times and almost lost him half a dozen more but every time he’d managed to find her trail and catch up with her.

Perhaps, he reflected later, she wanted to be found.

He was not so foolhardy as to barge into the tiny hut where the druid lived; he had little doubt the elf could magick him into a fine paste and butter her toast with him, if she so desired. He rested on a fallen log on the patch of green and looked around the darkening glade as he waited for her to emerge.

It was virtually untouched, despite her habitation. In contrast to the human villagers who seemed intent on clearing every tree within the radius of their settlements, the druid’s hut seemed to have emerged spontaneously from the ground, disturbing none of the surrounding environs.

A brook murmured nearby and made sweet music with the evening song of the crepuscular birds. His mind wandered back to the druid and he resumed the game he’d been playing all afternoon as he trailed her, trying to guess her name. She looked to be a high elf of some maturity--perhaps five or even six centuries, old enough for the first lines to appear at the corners of her lovely, fierce eyes. What was she doing here, after all?

It had been long since he’d met such an interesting person--since he’d met anyone he cared to know. The irony that she didn’t wish to know him was bitter, stinging. He dabbed gingerly at the gashes on his brow. They throbbed still but had stopped bleeding, at least.

Smoke rose from her hut and Halsin’s belly cramped with hunger. He had not eaten all day and was out of the deer jerky he usually kept in his hip pouch. And, too, there was hunger of another sort, equally desperate for satisfaction.

Her door finally opened to him, a rectangle of golden light in the gathering dark.

He felt every inch of his six and a half feet when he entered the hut; he was eye level with the rafters and had to crouch to move around the single room. Without comment, the druid pulled a chair from the table--there was only one chair--and extended her arm in invitation.

Halsin sat, inhaling the exquisite scent of the rabbit stew bubbling on the hearth. She did not offer to bind his wounds but bent over him to take a cursory look to ensure there was nothing amiss.

He held his breath as she touched his face with her cool fingers, probing the furrows the Sage’s claws had left in his flesh. He gasped, and not just from the pain. How long had it been since he’d felt a woman’s touch, even an indifferent one? “Those will scar,” she said simply, then moved back to the hearth.

“Tell me,” he said, watching intently as she ladled the stew into an earthenware bowl. “What is your name?”

The druid glanced up from the hearth. Her amber gaze was intense; he felt his blood heating just from that look. He wanted her so badly that even the distant possibility his desire might be fulfilled quickened his pulse.

“Dalia,” she said. He could never have guessed it.

“‘The edge of dawn,’” he translated from the high elven. A poetic name but one that seemed to suit her. “Pretty. I’m called Halsin.”

She smiled at that. It was not a common name, he imagined, among her folk.

“‘Hazelnut,’” she said, meeting his eyes again as she passed him the bowl. Their fingers brushed and his intake of breath was audible.

“Just ‘hazel,’ in our tongue,” he said, still watching her. She was as captivating as a hawk at prey, even serving soup from a cookpot. He noticed a fading tattoo running along her hairline. Too ornate for druid work. He longed to trace it with his finger. “Where are your people?”

“My Circle resides at the Dancing Falls, on the edge of the Dessarin.” She settled on the hearth to eat her soup. She had a slim figure, neat and athletic and not tall, imposing though she was in presence.

His curiosity warred with his hunger and since he had already been marked as rude, he split the difference and spoke over a mouthful of the glorious stew: rich and silky, it was, tasting of herbs and wild onions and savory meat. It burned his mouth but he did not care. “I meant, your people. Your kith and kin.”

“The druids are my kin now. The creatures and trees of this wood my kith.” She blew carefully on her stew before taking a bite.

Halsin considered this and found the idea not unappealing. The last two decades had been lonely ones and he found himself now relishing even the most adversarial contacts with people. “What do you druids do? Besides live in nature?”

Dalia snorted. “‘Besides live in nature,’ as though it’s some rare sport.”

“Well, isn’t it? Not many choose such a life.”

“You did.”

He stopped eating and looked down at his bowl of half-finished stew, uncertain of how much to reveal. He wanted to tell all, unburden all the secrets of his heart for the sake of sharing them. But even his corroded social skills warned him against that approach. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him. “This life chose me,” he said vehemently, anger rising unbidden. “Not the other way around. My people are dead and gone.”

Dalia’s curved eyebrow registered her skepticism and he felt another flash of annoyance. How dare she imagine she knew his heart better than he?

“You might have traveled to a city, or made a life in one of the villages here. No doubt they would be happy to have your shield and many maidens happy to take you to their beds.”

Halsin choked on his stew and from the corner of his eye caught her faint smile, the glimmer in her keen eyes. She was teasing him for the callow youth that he knew he was, damn her.

When he regained some dignity after his fit of coughing subsided, he said, “You presume, druid. I’m not interested in maidens.” She did not squirm under his stare but merely returned his challenging gaze with her own. He wanted desperately to know what was going on behind those golden eyes. Almost as much as he wanted to throw her onto the straw pallet in the corner and divest her of her robes, to explore her lean body with eyes, hands, and tongue.

“Teach me,” he demanded. He leaned forward in the creaky chair, using his imposing size to loom over her. Like the bear, she wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“You are impetuous and full of anger. And truly, no better than the humans you scorn; for though you live in nature you do not cherish its harmony, only what you can plunder from it."

He opened his mouth to respond in fury--what he would say, he did not know, but certainly something regrettable--but the druid held up her hand, cutting him off with the force of that gesture.

"If you want to become a druid, you will first need to master your own feelings. But nature, much as we druids endeavor to heal it, also has the power to heal us in turn.” She heaved a sigh, as though already regretting her next words. “I can teach you. Perhaps it was meant to be so.”

Halsin’s anger melted into relief so deep the corners of his eyes pricked with tears. His voice was rough when he replied with a terse “Thank you.” Even he had not realized how much he wanted this--needed it. Halsin’s eyes finally rose again to meet Dalia’s. “I swear that your trust in me will not be misplaced.”

She nodded briskly as though they’d concluded a trade. “Well and good. About the other thing….”

“The other thing?” he said densely.

“Of maidens and bedchambers.” She rolled her eyes and he felt a blush creep up his neck.

“Oh. Yes. What about them?” he asked warily.

“I’m not so foolish as to offer my heart to a wood elf but we both have… needs.” Her face was still composed but behind her stiff words he could sense her vulnerability. She, too, was lonely. The idea of her dwelling here alone in the hut for years on end filled him with tenderness in equal measure to his desire for her.

His chair scraped away from the table and he narrowly avoided a collision with the rafter as he sat down beside her to take her face in his hands.

She had an angular jaw to match her aquiline features. Her eyes had little softness in them, even now. She told him what to do next. As their bodies joined by the fire he experienced pleasures he didn’t know existed. Compared to his crude, perfunctory couplings in the wood, they were divine, revelations written in flesh and sighs.

After, they lay together in silence as the fire dwindled and his heart threatened to over-brim with happiness. Rare happiness from the promise of things to come.

[nuttyrabbit]

Oliver the Barn Owl Bio

So a few weeks ago I made a post where I said I’d start focusing on my OCs more and that, combined with the recent redesign I got for Oliver, finally prompted me into writing something that’s been long, long overdue: an actual bio for the boy.

Before I get into it, I have to give a couple of shout-outs.

First of all, shout outs to @shinkumancer​ for doing this excellent redesign of Oliver. She’s come so far as an artist and character designer since his first design almost 4 years ago, and in general is just a great artist all around. Check out her stuff and buy a commission, I promise you won’t be disappointed!

The other shout out is to my absolute best friend @pidgeonspen​ who not only helped me put together this bio, but was instrumental in helping me figure out Oliver’s new direction and a lot of the details for the worldbuilding surrounding him. There’s so much we’ve worked on in relation to his character (as well as certain others I have yet to share) and I’m so excited to start actually sharing it and doing stuff with it, but I’m getting ahead of myself

If you got any questions, comments, feedback, criticism, whatever, feel free to shoot me an ask or DM.  

With that out of the way, here it is: Oliver’s bio. As usual, everything’s under the readmore.

Name: Oliver the Barn Owl

Age: 20

Height: 3'4"

Occupation: Aspiring  historian/mage. Currently wandering around Eastern Eurish/West Yurashia

Sexuality: Bi

Personality:  Kind, curious, socially awkward, overly eager, gullible and naïve; Oliver really wants to do right by the people around him and help out when he can, all while striving to learn more about the world around him and find the answers he seeks.

Oliver dislikes needless violence, but is not entirely opposed to the notion of self defense. That being said, he will try to settle most situations through nonviolent means if possible, whether by taking a diplomatic approach or using his magical illusions to trick them. When he is forced to engage in combat, Oliver never aims to kill, instead seeking to subdue or render his enemies unconscious; the only exception is when he is faced with a life or death situation, and there are no other viable options left.

His naivete shines through in his quirky habits and lack of fundamental social skills, such as voice modulation, wherein he has trouble gauging the volume at which he speaks, switching from being jarringly loud to incredibly quiet. He also rambles on about what interests him, sometimes speaking so fast others may not be able to follow. He's self aware, but unsure how to fix these problems. Because of these factors, he doesn't pick up cues when he's being flirted with, as such advances can go over his head, and he's rather uneasy in crowds, at worst finding himself panicking and fleeing to a more secluded, private location.

His naivete is the root of much of his sweet, seemingly positive traits: due to his isolated upbringing, he isn't a worldly individual and, combined with his compulsion to help others and overtly optimistic outlook, has lead to him being used and manipulated, as well as giving second chances to those who clearly do not deserve it.

Skills: First and foremost, Oliver is skilled in the use of magic, mainly what is known as "dark" magic i.e, magic that invokes the powers of a demonic entity.  Using his tome as a conduit, Oliver is able to cast a wide variety of spells, though his preferences  usually lie in non-offensive magic such as that of illusions and healing.  The former in particular is something Oliver is quite skilled in, being able to invoke something as simple as an auditory illusion and something as complex as creating mirror images of himself, though that is something that cannot be done for too long.  In regards to healing, while Oliver cannot completely heal life-threatening wounds, he is able to patch up relatively minor wounds and cure basic ailments. He is also starting to get the hang of more outright defensive spells, such as barriers and even reflectors, though, like his illusions, these cannot be maintained for too long, and he is not as adept with these as he is with his other spells.  Finally, Oliver is capable of using offensive magic in the form of basic blasts of dark magic, but given his pacifistic nature, he uses these as an absolute last resort and even then, does not aim to kill with them.

Given both his isolated upbringing and nomadic lifestyle,  Oliver  is quite skilled when it comes to  wilderness survival. He's able to forage for food, build rudimentary shelters and fires, and navigate all with relative ease.  That being said however, when it comes to navigating urban environments, Oliver is completely out of his element and will quickly become lost and overwhelmed.

Hobbies: Oliver's hobbies revolve around his interests in magic and history; naturally, he loves reading and exploring. He often seeks out the libraries and bookstores of the towns he passes through, and will even investigate abandoned ruins and castles to satiate his curiosity, often taking barely legible notes in his tome. He can often be seen with his beak in a book, often forming a small collection of titles he's found or purchased with his spare earnings, though he tends to take on more than he can carry and so having to leave them behind is a bit of a sour point for him. He vows to one day get a library of his own so he can actually *keep* all of the books he finds on his travels.

Likes: History, magic, books (Mainly ones that pertain to the aforementioned topics), helping people, snack foods (Pretty much anything he can eat on the go, whether it be granola bars, pretzels, berries, etc.  He's got a sweet tooth so anything that's super sweet is right up his alley), libraries,  sharing his knowledge/findings with others, the cold (Grew up in it, so he's super comfortable in it as well).

Dislikes: Selfishness, cruelty, ignorance, crowds, excessively bitter food/drink (Not big on coffee), technology (Doesn't actually dislike it, he just has trouble actually using it), being lied to/manipulated (It's something he beats himself up over but continually falls prey to)

Backstory:  Born in the remote, frigid forests of Sibral in Northeastern Yurashia, Oliver grew up in almost complete isolation, living in a simple wooden cabin with nobody else but his parents around.

Growing up, Oliver's parents attempted to give the boy the best life they could despite their circumstances, showering him with constant love and attention. They also attempted to provide Oliver  with an education, with his mother teaching him the basics of wilderness survival including how to find food and basic first aid, and his father teaching him how to read and fostering his love for history.  However, the foremost priority in terms of Oliver's education was in the art of magic, and it is here where Oliver received the most thorough teachings, with his mother teaching him everything she knew healing and defensive spells, and his father helping him  to develop his signature illusions as well as some basic curses.

When Oliver wasn't receiving an education, he was spending most of his time either wandering around the woods by his home or reading the varied, yet also limited selection of books from his father's library. Not only did the stories within these books intensify Oliver's love of reading and interest in history,  but they also gave him something far more profound: his beliefs. Whether set in fiction or reality, the novels all encompassed similar themes of good people making the world a better place simply by doing the right thing, even if they had to do so alone; the notion that no matter how bad things get or how bleak things look, the innate kindness and good in people will prevail even during the darkest hour - these are things Oliver took to heart and would carry with him for the rest of his life.

Things continued in this manner for most of Oliver's childhood and adolescence; his time split between education, reading, and strolling through the icy woods he called his home. In general, life was rather peaceful. However, the older he got, the more certain things began to bother him and gnaw at the edge of his mind.   To start, his parents always seemed to dance around the big questions: "Why do we live out here all alone?", "How did you learn magic?", "Why are you so concerned about me running into 'demons'?" The demons question in particular was a sticking point for Oliver, as while his parents went to great lengths to warn him about "demons", they seemed to not know too much about them to begin with, or at the very least, weren't telling him everything. Then again, it seemed that they weren't telling him everything in regards to a lot of things.  

Even outside of that however, there was something else that seemed to bother him: this growing desire to get out there. As much as he liked his home and his parents, he began to yearn to see the various places and people so vividly detailed in his books. He wanted to see what else was out there, what new things he could learn, what people he could meet and what experiences he could revel in.  These sentiments of wanderlust  only grew as time went on, and by the time he reached adulthood, it was becoming almost unbearable.

Which is why it came as a welcome surprise to Oliver that the moment he turned 18, his parents seemed eager to see him out of the house, helping him pack for what was surely to be a long journey, his father even giving him his favorite magical tome and cape, and his mother giving him a brand new outfit meant to show off her "handsome little boy". With a kiss goodbye and some words of encouragement, Oliver was soon off on his journey, thrust out unto the world with no real direction, yet still excited to see what lay beyond the confines of his isolated abode.

However, once Oliver got out into the world, he found that reality didn't quite match what he saw in his books. While many people he's met have been kind and compassionate like he expected , just as many have been  callous, ignorant, or even outright cruel, attempting to either harm or take advantage of the owl's kindness and naivete. To make matters worse, while some have appreciated his magical talents, what he wasn't prepared for was the amount of people who treat  his magic  with fear, disdain, disbelief, and on rare occasion,  violence. His parents had warned him that such things could happen, but he didn't imagine it could get as bad as it did.  

While he has had many pleasant experiences thus far, and has even gotten to explore some of the locales described in his books, these unfortunate experiences have left their mark on the owl, and even though he still maintains his compassionate nature and optimistic beliefs, there is still a part of him that is hurt by what he's been through.  

With all the unanswered questions hanging over his head - a list that only seemed to grow with each passing day - Oliver began to question things, such as why his parents had seemed to be in such a hurry to get him out of the house when he came of age.

Adding to the mystery, strange dreams have begun to plague his slumber - a voice belonging to someone (or something?), urging him to go to specific locations, searching for something important.

Now more confused than ever before, Oliver has one burning question taking precedence over all else:

Just what the heck is the "Jeweled Scepter", and why is it so important that he seek it out?