“Burn The Witch! Burn The Witch!” Shouted The Crowd, Drowning Out The Distressed Warnings Of One

The fields of Royal Cress are okay but when it's pollen mixes with that of things like Ghost Mother Willow... It's just not a good day.

"Have you ever been in there?" I asked as I gestured to the edge of the woods. If he hasn't, then we'd have to go around the Ashen Grove.

"Years ago, I think," he answered, picking a sprig of Royal Cress.

I was just very happy that Royal Cress pollen is heavier than most others.

"Maybe we should just go around," I offered.

"Will it get us there faster?"

"No."

He stood up. "We got through the Ashen Grove, then," he stated.

Oh dear. I rubbed my head. I'd probably have to help him through the mirages that happen to those not used to the pollens.

"Wait up," I called as I trotted to keep up with him.

The young mage whimpered in my arms when the first soldier passed by our hiding spot. It had been awhile and I'd have to be careful not to overdo it.

Taking a calming breath, I pulled her closer to me and pulled the light from the area, bathing our spot in shadow.

A few men stopped and started going over the area. The metal in their shoes and legs were deafeningly loud.

I tugged the mage closer to me still. I could feel her erratic heartbeat as we waited for our fate.

They had moved to another section of the surrounding wooded area before they were suddenly called back to where they came from.

When they were gone, I allowed the mage to go.

"What caused them to go back?" she asked me.

How could I answer? I had a feeling I knew but didn't want to scare the poor girl.

"They might be getting ready to rotate the guards," I offered, "and they might be the replacements."

She seemed satisfied with my answer.

"Come on, we're almost to the capital," I encouraged her, not so subtle about the change of subject.

Every 21st century piece of writing advice: Make us CARE about the character from page 1! Make us empathize with them! Make them interesting and different but still relatable and likable!

Every piece of classic literature: Hi. It's me. The bland everyman whose only purpose is to tell you this story. I have no actual personality. Here's the story of the time I encountered the worst people I ever met in my life. But first, ten pages of description about the place in which I met them.

Hey! Are there blacksmiths in your story? I'm a hobbyist blacksmith and I'm here to help!

Blacksmithing is one of those things that a lot of people get wrong because they don't realize it stuck around past the advent of the assembly line. Here's a list of some common misconceptions I see and what to do instead!

Not all blacksmiths are gigantic terrifying muscly guys with beards and deep voices. I am 5'8, skinny as a twig, have the muscle mass of wet bread, and exist on Tumblr. Anybody who is strong enough to pick up a hammer and understands fire safety can be a blacksmith.

You can make more than just swords with blacksmithing. Though swords are undeniably practical, they're not the only things that can be made. I've made candle holders, wall hooks, kebab skewers, fire pokers, and more. Look up things other people have made, it's really amazing what can be done.

"Red-hot" is actually not that hot by blacksmith terms. when heated up, the metal goes from black, to red, to orange, to yellow, to white. (for temperature reference, I got a second degree burn from picking up a piece of metal on black heat) The ideal color to work with the metal is yellow. White is not ideal at all, because the metal starts sparking and gets all weird and lumpy when it cools. (At no point in this process does the metal get even close to melting. It gets soft enough to work with, but I have never once seen metal become a liquid.)

Blacksmithing takes fucking forever. Not even taking into account starting the forge, selecting and preparing metal, etc. etc. it takes me around an hour to make one (1) fancy skewer. The metals blacksmiths work with heat up and cool down incredibly fast. When the forge is going good, it only takes like 20 seconds to get your metal hot enough to work with, but it takes about the same time for it to cool down, sometimes even less.

As long as you are careful, it is actually stupidly easy to not get hurt while blacksmithing. When I picked up this hobby I was like "okay, cool! I'm gonna make stuff, and I'm gonna end up in the hospital at some point!" Thus far, the latter has yet to occur. I've been doing this for nearly a year. I have earned myself a new scar from the aforementioned second degree burn, and one singe mark on my jeans. I don't even wear gloves half the time. Literally just eye protection, common sense, and fast reflexes and you'll probably be fine. (Accidents still happen of course, but I have found adequate safety weirdly easy to achieve with this hobby)

A forge is not a fire. The forge is the thing blacksmiths put their metal in to heat it up. It starts as a small fire, usually with newspaper or something else that's relatively small and burns easily, which we then put in the forge itself, which is sort of a fireplace-esque thing (there's a lot of different types of forge, look into it and try to figure out what sort of forge would make the most sense for the context you're writing about) and we cover it with coal, which then catches fire and heats up. The forge gets really hot, and sometimes really bright. Sometimes when I stare at the forge for too long it's like staring into the sun. The forge is also not a waterfall of lava, Steven Universe. It doesn't work like that, Steven Universe.

Welding and blacksmithing are not the same thing. They often go hand-in-hand, but you cannot connected two pieces of metal with traditional blacksmithing alone. There is something called forge welding, where you heat your metal, sprinkle borax (or the in-universe equivalent) on it to prevent the metal from oxidizing/being non-weldable, and hammer the pieces together very quickly. Forge welding also sends sparks flying everywhere, and if you're working in a small space with other blacksmiths, you usually want to announce that you're welding before you do, so that everyone in a five-foot radius can get out of that five-foot radius. You also cannot just stuck some random pebbles into the forge and get a decent piece of metal that you can actually make something with, Steven Universe. It doesn't work like that, Steven Universe.

Anvils are really fucking heavy. Nothing else to add here.

Making jewelry is not a blacksmithing thing unless you want jewelry made of steel. And it will be very ugly if you try. Blacksmithing wasn't invented to make small things.

If there's anything here I didn't mention, just ask and I'll do my best to answer.

The tall sprawling; towering bookcases of the library never made me feel confined, trapped like it did with others.

I selected some children's stories, some I'd promised to churches and orphanages while others were meant to be a surprise to the children.

After I got the books I needed and headed outside, I was blinded for a moment before my vision cleared. It was around midday and I knew that I was moving a bit more sluggish than I would've liked.

I shrugged those thoughts aside and made my way to keep the promises I made.

"Alright," the stranger sighed, "what's with the orange peels?"

I was laying some fragments of orange peels out to dry for black gold and others near some potted carnivorous plants that needed to be fed.

"Black gold," I said as I pointed to the ones drying on the sunlit stone. "Plant food." I pointed to the other peels that were already attracting flies.

"I thought that those plants didn't like any nutrients in their soil," he remarked as he gracefully draped himself across a fallen log in the shadow of a large maple. "And I though that you hated potting plants."

"They don't. But they still need food, just not food like the others." I sat down not too far from him, in the shade too. "I don't like potting plants but a kid asked me for a plant that wasn't like any others."

"So, obviously, you chose..." he propped himself up, "what is that, anyway?"

"Dionaea. A fly trap." I cast my gaze back to the potted plant that just caught a decent size fly. "I had to do a lot of trading to get a hold of that plant."

"If it was such a hassle to get, why did you?"

"The kid was curious about the world outside our boarders." I looked him dead in the eyes and told him, "Tell me how I could have said 'no'." I settled in a position similar to his. "When I see the kid again, I plan on giving it to him as a gift."

After I said that, he settled back down on his log, lost in thought.

The Northern Vulpes is always the first constellation to appear in the autumn sky. I loved how the kids would create stories for each other about how mischievous or clever or generous it was to the other constellations.

During one of the celestial festivals, the moon released some animals that looked like the Northern Vulpes. They had illuminated pelts that even shone in the day.

Coyotes had warm colors while the wolves, who were much larger like real wolves, had cooler tones.

The children loved them. Some preferred the coyotes while others preferred the wolves.

Over the years, some of those beings just… ran away. This was a couple hundred years ago, though. There have been sightings of some but the beings always run off before anything can be done.

Mostly, though, they don't bother us and we don't bother them.

I came back to our little camp to find him with his head in his hands.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I set the gathered food down.

"I hurt you," he whispered.

"I'm sorry?" What was he talking about?

"I caused you physical pain." He clenched his fists tight.

I could still feel the burn every now and again. I sat down directly beside him.

"I do the same thing to some of the plants I watch over," I told him, staring into the fire. "Sometimes, the best thing I can do for them is to cut an infected part off and burn it because there's nothing else I can do," I explained before he could ask.

"Still doesn't justify my behavior," he muttered.

"Well, I don't like the pain and it sometimes bothers me," I started, referring to the injury he gave me earlier, "but I forgive you."

He met my gaze before he asked, "Why?"

"You're going to make mistakes some as me, granted different from mine. But life and time are just that way - unforgiving. I think it's easier to get through a day if people are more forgiving."

He stayed silent.

"You going to be okay?"

He rested his head on my shoulder and whispered, "Yeah. Just processing."

"You're going to be okay," I told him, letting him take however long he needs to figure it out.

since the gävlebocken didn't survive (bad luck) or get burned (good luck), i'm taking 'eaten by jackdaws' to mean 'secret third thing'

"Hey, pretty girl," I murmured to the Púca I adopted when she was a small filly.

She grunted a quiet greeting before she came up to me. She grabbed a bit of the fabric on my shoulder and gave it a gentle tug.

"How long has it been since I last saw you?"

She whinnied but let go of my shoulder.

"Since yesterday?" I gave a fake frustrated sigh, "That's too long!" I hugged her around her neck. Her fur was coarser than that of other horses and ponies I've met but I wouldn't change anything about her. The other ones are nice but they aren't her.

She nudged me enough to take a small step back, reminding me why I originally came down to visit her.

"Do you want a snack?" I asked her. "Snack?"

She nuzzled me a bit harder.

"Which hand is the snack in?" She was always a smart girl.

She stood there for a moment before nudging my right shoulder. I rolled the apple to my right hand and held it out to her.

"Smart girl," I murmured as she ate the apple. I rubbed her ears just the way she likes it. "I'm going to talk to my big, fat, mean brother to see if I can't bring you into the court so I can give you all the love and rubs you want." I couldn't stop a soft chuckle. "He isn't big, fat, or mean."

The Púca I've known since she was a filly nickered in agreement. She's met my brother and likes him well enough but still doesn't like how he keeps her from me.

"You be nice to him the next time you see him, okay?" I murmured against her forehead.