#Many-pelted fruit lichen

[cricketchirp]

Artistic Perspective Along the Trail

We went for a walk this morning, My Guy and I, along trails owned by Lakes Environmental Association, particularly their Highland Research Forest, and the network of Highland Ridge Ski Trails. It wasn’t strenuous, it was only slightly buggy, and it was lovely, with so many offerings and here I only captured a few. Our first stop was beside the wetland that in the past has been home to Beavers…

[strelles-universe]

Clan Names: General Plant Based

There are a lot of plant based names- many from the clans themselves and many more from rogues and loners passing through their territory. Plants are therefore broken down into: Trees, Flowers, Herbs, Fruits and General plants.

Blossom: Predominantly ThunderClan and WindClan. Kind or gentle, beautiful, a cat who’s growing into their own.

---

Bracken: Used by all clans equally. Defensive, protective, a cat with a curly or tangled pelt.

---

Bramble: Predominantly ThunderClan. Loyal and protective, a name often given to the most dedicated sitters in ThunderClan.

---

Briar: Predominantly a WindClan name. Helpful or gentle, a cat who is good at creating traps.

---

Burr: Predominantly a WindClan or a ShadowClan name. Agitated, infuriated, someone easily provoked, can also mean loyal.

---

Bush: Used by all clans equally. Thick furred, a cat who is short in either height or temper. Sometimes used to mean, "gardener."

---

Chive: Predominantly a WindClan or a ThunderClan name. Elegant and regal, a cat who is mature

---

Clover: Predominantly a ShadowClan or a RiverClan name. Lucky, someone who has great fortune, a naive or easily fooled cat.

---

Cotton: Predominantly a WindClan name. A white furred cat, someone with thick or very soft fur.

---

Fern: Mostly a ThunderClan or RiverClan. Friendly, gentle and motherly, a cat with long fur.

---

Frond: Mostly a RiverClan or a WindClan name. A very distinctive or glossy coated cat, someone who is cheery or kindhearted.

---

Gorse: Predominantly a WindClan name. Brave, determined, a common WindClan name meaning “protector” or “survivor.”

---

Grass: Predominantly a WindClan or a ThunderClan name. Someone who is determined or capable of thriving, adaptable.

---

Ivy: Predominantly a ThunderClan or a ShadowClan name. Aloof or intimidating, a cat who is secretive or clingy.

---

Leaf: Used by all clans equally. A name used to mean “provider” or “delicate.”

---

Lichen, Moss: Predominantly a ShadowClan or a RiverClan name. Determined or resilient, a cat who has a rough or messy coat, in general lichen is used on long furred cats and moss is used on short furred ones.

---

Prickle, Thorn: Predominantly a ThunderClan or WindClan name. When used a prefix, typically means intelligent or clever, when used as a suffix, it means defensive or sharp tongued.

---

Reed: Predominantly a RiverClan name. Reliable or brave, sometimes used by RiverClan in place of oak.

---

Weed: Used by all clans equally. Resilient and adaptable, a cat who picks up things quickly.

[scarletarosa]

Cernunnos

Celtic god of forests, wild animals, vegetation, virility, and fertility

Cernunnos is the Gaelic Guardian of the Forests and has his name meaning “Horned One”. Cernunnos is also a mediator of man and nature, able to tame both predator and prey alike. He remains a mysterious deity since his original mythos has been lost due to the destruction of pagan artifacts by Christians and their demonization of him. As a god of the wilderness, Cernunnos often appears as a bearded man with antlers who is surrounded by wild beasts. He was often shown with a torc- a traditional Celtic necklace that was made of metal. In some depictions, he merely holds one, while in others he wears it either on his neck or antlers. Some scholars have connected Cernunnos to oak trees, which served as prominent symbols in Celtic lore and Druidry.  

This wild god is deeply connected to uncivilized ways and free-spirits. Animals are his subjects, and free-growing fruits and vegetable are his bounty. Classical depictions of this god included gatherings of animals such as elk, wolves, snakes, and aurochs. Such gatherings were possible thanks to Cernunnos’ ability to bring natural enemies into peaceful communion with one another. This ability may have cast Cernunnos as a protector and provider amongst rural tribes and hunters. Most of all, Cernunnos is connected with male animals, particularly the stag in rut, as this portrays him in his role of fertility and reproduction.  

Whenever a Celtic king would die, Cernunnos was honoured during the funeral ceremony, which likely has caused neo-pagans to misinterpret Cernunnos as a god of the Underworld. However, this is instead because Cernunnos is the god of the underground earth, as well as forests. So the funeral rites of kings were dedicated to this Lord of the underground. He was indeed a sort of psychopomp for the ancient kings, but not much more than that in regards to death. Alternatively, Cernunnos is rather a god of life who helps in springing forth fertility in both land and animals.

Appearance: Cernunnos is a man in his 30’s with the legs of a stag and has very long, twisting antlers. He has brown hair that comes down a bit past his shoulders, a short brown beard, and has brown eyes. He also has a muscular body that is slightly covered in creeping vines and wears no clothing.

Personality: Cernunnos is very playful, joyful, peaceful, care-free, and loves to embrace the present moment and savour life. He says that one must remember that they are not immortal, we need to focus on what truly matters to us so we can make the most of what time we have. He respects all of life and hates those who destroy forests and animals for no reason (hunting for food is fine). When resting, he dwells in deep caves but will go and venture off into the woods and joyfully explore everything. In his spare time, Cernunnos most often enjoys rushing through the wilderness, hunting, and having sex. He has stated that he is not exactly the same god as Pan, but they are indeed linked. Pan is an aspect of him, meaning that Cernunnos created Pan as a shard of himself and then gave him free-will, which all elder gods have done many times. The main difference between these two is that while Pan is moreso a god of virility and fertilization, Cernunnos mainly acts as a Guardian of the forests and its animals.

Like the majority of deities, Cernunnos has a dark side to him that arises when he is enraged. This mostly happens when humans cruelly harm his animals or become irrationally destructive towards forests. When this occurs, Cernunnos becomes terrifying in appearance. His eyes become blazing red, his horns became charcoal black, and he grows extremely long claws that he uses to tear people apart.

Offerings: brown ale, fruit punch, cider, apple cider, roasted rabbit, pheasant, ram roast, mushrooms (especially brown), dried figs, wild chestnuts, wild berries (mixed), ram horns, deer antlers, boar hide, hare pelts, pheasant plumage, wild dog skulls, wild cat hides, fox pelts, bone carvings, torcs, wood carvings, dildos decorated with ribbons, green candles, smooth river pebbles, acorns, pinecones, lichen, ivy, toadstools, and flower fragrances

[cedar-glade]

What I can only assume is a field pelt lichen. 

Peltigera rufescens,

In a sense Peltigra spp. in Ohio and Kentucky or hunting pelts are a spreading and semi creeping species of Lichen( moving about by growth and death but not truly motile), they aren’t an amoeboid myxomycete that is capable of chemically hunting and rolling over food after moving by cytoplasmic streaming and elongating, and by any means nor are they hyphomycetes affiliated or motile psuedofungus brown algae like Phytopthera spp. They are simply normal lichenized ascomycetes with food that is alive and can be readily depleted so it has to grow outward with it’s thallus in order to compensate a lack of food in one area. In many cases Pelt lichens can have multiple photobionts like Nostoc spp.( Nitrogen fixer and photosynthetically active) and  Coccomyxa spp. ( green algae that is also photosynthetically active), which is the case for  Peltigera aphthosa( not native to Ohio to my knowledge) and P. leucophlebia (ohio native), both leafy green freckled pelts. 

I don’t know to much about this one photographed above in BBC on seasonally dry karst conglomerate over some carpet moss; but, I know that while this species is common, it is special among the pelts for a different reason. Unlike all of the other pelt lichens where rhizines( hold fasts that mature into food absorption organs(blacken usually when this occurs)) are critical to id when fruiting is not occurring on the thallus, this species is easy to id due to habitat. Almost all of the Ohio and Kentucky Pelts occur in humid or frequently wet habitats, this species is extremely tolerant of drying out and is often found in dry habitats or exposed habitats. 

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 68: Let’s Take a Walk

Lance and Keith spend a day together, enjoying Keith's birth quintant.

First  Previous  Next

Keith wakes up alone, which he doesn’t like because he’s been spoiled. Ears swiveling, he can hear Lance puttering about in the main room. Sighing, the Galra snuggles back into the blankets, not quite willing to surrender his current comfort.

A weight settles next to him. “Hey, beloved. Good morning.”

Keith’s eyes flutter back open, eyeing his spouse and the small pile in his lap. “Good morning. What’s all that?”

“Well, your mother told me that today is the quintant of your birth.”

“Oh. I kind of... forgot?”

“She said you might have. But rest assured, I will never forget. Get used to getting presents.”

“Are those the things you bought from Vrek and Ilun? Not much of a present if I know what it is.” It’s a tease, but judging by the quirk of a starlit eyebrow, it’s taken as a challenge.

“Oh, I think you’ll be delighted.” Smirking a little, Lance sits on the edge of the hanging bed, pushing it back and forth with his leg in a slow, swinging motion. “You are frustratingly indifferent to superficial things, so if you show interest in anything, I'm going to notice.”

Lance sets the pelts and the boxes in front of Keith, smiling. He runs a gentle hand through the young Galra’s hair. The Galra gazes up at his mate, endeared by his efforts. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now open your presents! I never get to give you presents!”

“I don’t know that you’ve ever tried to give me presents,” Keith murmurs, lifting the smaller box.

“Yes, because you never take an interest.”

“Not in anything you can get on Altea. It’s harder for me to get things from my own planet- Oh.” Keith’s eyes light up at the loose stones, amber, already polished. “Lance, these are beautiful.”

“I know you probably wanted finished pieces, but I figured we could give them to Vetroneius. Have them make something special for you. There’s plenty there.”

“You didn’t give the hunters enough for this while they were in town. How did you-” Keith’s amethyst eyes narrow, watching Lance squirm with guilt. “Did you trade all of your jewelry?”

“Everything I brought with me, except my belly button piece and my crown. But you’re right. You have so little from home, and I should have done something about that a long time ago.”

“I could have done something about it, too.” Keith smiles. “But thank you. I wonder if Vetroneius could make me some clothes in indigo. It would look nice with these, and be more like what nobility wears here.”

“I think that sounds wonderful. You’re a Prince of Altea, but you’re also Galra, and we shouldn’t ignore that. We should celebrate it. Now.” Lance claps his hands together, sets them on the other box. “This is the special present. For your birth quintant, which you didn’t tell me about. Because you’re the worst. But you’re also mine, and I love you, so I hope you like it.”

Keith chuckles, always charmed by Lance’s cheerful sense of humor. He opens the box. It’s a gold hair comb, an elegant, arcing spray of gold leaves, flowers, and tendrils adorned with small pieces of amber. “Oh, Lance. This is for me?”

“Yes, of course. You asked for it, remember? Well not this specifically, but when Ilun showed it to me… I thought you’d like it. And I wanted you to have something nice from home.”

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Keith brushes a loose lock of hair over his shoulder, trying not to show how moved he is, even as his throat tightens a bit. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He’s never had something like this. Everything he was given after Shiro brought him into the city were necessities: clothes, tools, weapons, armor- all the things a Galra needs to live on Daibazaal. Everything Vetroneius and their team make for him always feel impersonal. But this comb… Lance chose this from among many items because he thought Keith would like it.

And he does. It’s gorgeous, it’s something from home, and Lance chose it for him.

“You really like it?” the Altean asks, licking his lips nervously.

Keith pulls him into an embrace, touched. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You are so welcome, beloved.” Lance squeezes him tight, but then draws away. Far too soon, which Lance picks up on. He settles in a bit more, letting Keith climb into his lap.

“You should get me presents from home more often,” Keith murmurs. “I’m going to have Thace send some more vakalt pelts if any come in with a party. For our kit,” he explains. “Vakalt pelts are so soft and hold warmth very well. And they’re oddly good at holding scents, so we can make them smell like us. It’ll make our kit feel safer when they’re first born, especially if you and I have to work separately.”

“Of course. We’ll have to figure out a way to send currency of some kind.”

“He’ll just get them for us, and we’ll owe him a favor or two. Reciprocity is what keeps our society moving. I’m sure you’re charmed by the rural atmosphere, but the truth is so many of our resources, including medicine, electric heat, comms devices, and stuff like that, are given to the military. We’re left with nothing more than what you’ve seen.”

“Your resources are spread quite thin, huh?”

“Not thin. Uneven. It frustrates Lotor to no end. He hasn’t mentioned it to you I don’t think, but his relationship with his father is strained because of it.” Keith rests his head on Lance’s shoulder, admiring his gifts, running the soft fur of the pelts beneath his fingers. Lance does the same, mimicking Keith’s motions, working his scent into the fur.

“Hm, a progressive young adult not getting along with their father? I never would have thought- Come here.”

The Altean wraps an arm around Keith’s still slender waist, kisses him soundly. Keith purrs, wraps his tail around Lance’s ankle as Lance licks into his mouth.

“Lance, we-” Keith lets Lance kiss past his words. “We have stuff to do.”

“We actually don't- Hm. I just have the most beautiful spouse ever, and I love him an awful lot. I just can’t help myself.” Lance’s blue and pink eyes look him up and down, Keith suddenly anxious beneath his gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just- You’re different. I see it quite suddenly now.” Lance reaches up, brushes hair out of Keith’s eyes. “Taller, broader shoulders, like you said. Still quiet… But a more confident kind of quiet.”

“Do you like it?” Keith murmurs, pressing their brows together, letting his eyes flutter closed.

“You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect. You'll always be perfect.” Lance brushes a thumb over Keith’s cheek. “Now come on. Get moving, before I keep you here all day.”

“I have concerns about your impulse control.”

“Oh, Ancients, me too. Go take your bath while I cook breakfast.” Lance kisses his cheek, flits outside.

Keith smiles, resting his head on his knees, tail thumping against the bed. He spies BleepBloop running after Lance, no doubt hoping for an offering. A buzzing sound fills Keith’s ears. His datapad. A glance reveals it’s his mother, probably calling to congratulate him on his birth quintant. Keith licks his lips, glances after Lance, declines the call. He doesn’t want to speak to his mother right now. The words he needs to say to her are ugly, and will be unpleasant for them both. Now isn’t the time.

“I want to go foraging,” Keith declares later, pushing away his bowl. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course!” Lance leaps up, heading outside to clean the bowls with sand the way Keith showed him last night. “Will you show me some things?”

“Sure. come on.”

Lance is not difficult to entertain. It’s one of the things Keith loves most about him. The Altean prince finds pleasure in the simplest things. Hence, they spend the morning wandering about the forest, Lance exploring, Keith enjoying being back on his home turf.

“What’s this?”

“A lichen.”

“What’s it do?”

“Grow?”

“Worst field trip ever, beloved.” Lance giggles, nose wrinkling with the playful quip.

“Uh… I used to put it around my garden to keep bugs away?”

“Amazing!” Lance squeals, gazing delighted at a clump of bright blue lichen clinging to a branch. Keith shakes his head, biting his lip against a smile of his own as he bends down to harvest some herbs from a log.

They spend most of the quintant in the forest. Keith shows him the trees and the shrubs, what plants he used to make medicine when he felt sick, or when his bones hurt, or when he was injured and got an infection. Keith shows Lance how to dig for yaro root at the lake's edge, and harvest nuts and fruits from the trees. He shows him how to find insects to roast on a fire, and how to eat them. He shows him how to make fire.

“I never expected to see my Altean mate sitting on the bare ground, eating a ten-legged terror.”

Lance rips off another crunchy leg, leaving only three attached to a lumpy bug body. “It tastes good. I’ve never eaten a bug before.”

“Tourist.” Keith munches on his own terrors. He’s trying to store up some extra nutrients before his season, in the hopes it might increase his chances of a successful pregnancy. He doesn’t trust his body in the slightest. It demands more than it should already.

“You okay?” Lance asks as they finish up, nibbling on the last of his fruit.

“I’m just thinking?”

“About?”

“Lots of things.” Keith glances up, watching BleepBloop leap through the trees. “My kittenhood.”

“Any good memories?”

“TreeTrunks teaching me how to hunt bugs. That was good.”

“TreeTrunks?”

“BleepBloop’s mom. She died when my dad did, but she helped raise me, in a weird way.” Keith slips his hand into Lance’s. “I learned to hear what she heard, see what she saw. Watching her, I learned what sounds to be afraid of and what sounds meant food. I owe my life to her.”

“Maybe BleepBloop can teach our kids some skills too, huh? We should bring them back here. You can teach them about where they come from.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we should. I think they'd love it out here.”

Later in the day, Keith takes Lance out of the forest, back onto the tundra. They make a campfire under the stars, cook fish and vegetables on sticks. As the typical cold of sunset begins to bite, Lance bundles up in their cloaks with BleepBloop in his lap, watching Keith kick dirt on the fire. Once Keith determines that he's not going to burn down the tundra, he snuggles into Lance's cloak bundle, purring softly. It seems Lance is never going to get over that; he loves hearing that sound, knowing it means Keith is happy.

They sit in the black night, and Keith turns his eyes to the sky.

“I was born on this quintant two centaphoebs ago. I would have remembered it now.”

“How?”

“Look up.”

Lance looks up, expecting to see stars, and instead seeing a huge expanse of pitch black blocking them out. “Mom says that on the day I was born, the moons were new at the same time. That only happens once every centaphoeb. Down here, planetside, quintants all tend to bleed together. Birth quintants tend to be forgotten. But once every cetaphoeb, I know exactly how old I am.”

Lance stares up at the vast blackness. It’s frightening, almost, gazing at nothing where there should be stars. He hadn’t noticed the increasing darkness. He’s spent most nights huddled in their bed, fighting off the biting cold of Daibazaani nights. "Ancients."

“It was scary… Last time it happened. I was all alone, and it was so dark. When the moons are both new, none of the lizards glow, and the gleam blossoms close, so there was literally no light. I couldn’t even see. My eyes are stronger now, because I’m older, but back then… It was like I was blind.”

“That must have been awful.” Lance finds Keith’s cold-bitten hand, squeezes it tight.

“Yeah. I was still really small. Way smaller than I am now, even. I was the perfect snack for a lot of forest predators. Gintars in particular were always coming around trying to sniff me out.”

“And what’s a gintar?”

“A gintar is an eight-legged serpent with weirdly soft, wrinkly skin. Like they should have hair, but don’t.”

“That sounds… so gross.”

“Creepy and gross. All the legs are like, just behind their weird triangle heads and then they’re just tail.”

“Nasty! Ew! Why does that exist?”

“I have no idea. I wish they didn’t.” Keith sighs, staring up at the distinct blackness that commemorates his birth. “Twenty decaphoebs. Two centaphoebs. I can’t believe it.”

“You’re so old,” Lance teases. “I’m married to an old man.”

“Shut up!” Keith jabs an elbow into his mate, laughing. “I’m not that much older!”

“About thirteen phoebs. So no, not that much older. Old enough for me to tease you.” Lance shivers. “It’s freezing out here.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re ready to go in?”

“Kind of? Yes. The sky is creepy. Awesome, but a little disturbing.”

“Agreed. You should make a light for us so we can get back,” Keith whispers, just a touch closer to Lance’s ear than necessary.

“O-Okay.” Lance makes a werelight in record time, a pale light in the black of the hovering abyss. The Altean beams, scales glowing in the dark, Keith’s amber-gleaming eyes shining back. “There you are.”

“Here we are,” Keith murmurs, smiling, tipping their foreheads together. “Thank you for today. It’s been… forever since my birth was celebrated. I’m glad I got to share it with you.”

“Me too, beloved.” Lance’s smile is one of the sweetest Keith’s ever beheld. The Altean lays a hand against his cheek, and Keith leans into it with a sigh, purring with affection.

Walking back, arms around each other, cloaks over their shoulders, the two laugh and carry on, tripping over each other’s feet before tumbling into bed. Lance makes a playful quip, kissing Keith’s cheek. Keith teases back. They laugh, fingers in hair, in fur, tracing over skin and scales. Lips on lips. For Keith, it’s the beginning of another decaphoeb. For them both, it’s the beginning of everything.

[scotiaeire]

SO, A WEE BIT O’ SUNSHINE...

MADE ME CHANGE MY MIND ABOUT NOT WORKING HARD IN THE FIELD TODAY. HUBS AND MYSELF GOT TO WORK CLEARING MORE OF THE BRAMBLES.

FOLKS MIGHT THINK, “OOH, BRAMBLES..GREAT STUFF! BRAMBLE JAM, JELLY, WINE, ETC” AND BE HAPPY TO HAVE A FIELD FULL OF THEM.

BUT HERE’S THE THING....THIS FIELD HAS NEVER BEEN CULTIVATED. IT WAS PASTURE, AND THAT WAS MANY DECADES AGO. THE BRAMBLES ARE WILD, AND HAVING BEEN HERE FOR SO MANY YEARS, NOT PRODUCTIVE. BARELY ANY FRUIT ON THE BUSHES BUT JUST A MESS OF SUCKERS, ROOTS, THORNS AND GROUND COVERAGE THAT BECOMES AN IMPENETRABLE BARRIER. AND AS I MENTIONED EARLIER, WE NEED THE GROUND FOR THE HEN FLOCKS, AND GARDENING. MORE RAISED BEDS NEXT YEAR BECAUSE THE SOIL IS VERY HEAVY CLAY, RICH IN NUTRIENTS BUT IT TAKES HEAVY MACHINERY TO WORK IT AND WE’RE JUST TWO OLD RETIRED DISABLED FOLKS WITH A FORK, SPADE AND SHEARS. SO DIGGING IT OVER IS OUT OF THE QUESTION, HENCE THE RAISED BEDS.

EVEN THOUGH THE SUN SHONE ALL DAY AND IT WAS EVEN HOT FOR OCTOBER, THE GROUND IS STILL SODDEN..CLAY IS LIKE THAT. IT HOLDS WATER LIKE NOTHING ELSE. I COULD MAKE POTTERY OUT OF IT, LET’S PUT IT THAT WAY...

BUT WE WORKED AND CLEARED ONE MORE PATCH AND WE’RE GRADUALLY GETTING THERE, EATING AWAY AT IT.

I’M HOPING BY THIS TIME NEXT YEAR TO HAVE MOST OF THE BRAMBLES UNDER CONTROL, HALF A DOZEN MORE RAISED BEDS (THERE ARE EIGHT, TWO BESIDE THE TINY GREENHOUSE, ONE OUTSIDE THE KITCHEN WINDOW AND I ALSO INTEND TO PUT AN ARCHERY RANGE AT THE FIELD BOTTOM NEAR WHAT WE CALL THE “GHOST TREE” (BECAUSE IT’S COVERED IN REINDEER LICHEN SO IN TWILIGHT GLOWS SOFTLY), AND IN ONE CORNER, BRAMBLES PREVENT US REACHING THE REMAINDER OF OUR WEE ACRE, WHICH HAS MORE TREES AND DEADFALL I’D LIKE TO COLLECT FOR WORKING WITH AND FOR FIREWOOD IN WINTER. SO, YUP, HEAPS OF BRAMBLE CLEARING TO BE DOING, SIGH.

SO SOME PICS FROM TODAY..HUBS AND PUP IN THE NEWLY CLEARED BRAMBLE PATCH, WITH A SIDE VIEW OF WHAT WE STILL HAVE TO CLEAR. AND THAT’S JUST THE BRAMBLES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FIELD. THERE’S MORE ALONG THE EDGES AND AT THE BOTTOM.

AND A VIEW OF WHAT WE’VE CLEARED SINCE WE’VE BEEN HERE (DECEMBER). IN THE CLEARING, WE DISCOVERED TWO TINY STONE BUILT OUTBUILDINGS BEHIND THE BARNS (ONE I’M CONVINCED WAS THE ORIGINAL OUTHOUSE) AND THE ORIGINAL RAINWATER COLLECTING TANK, WHICH FILLED FROM THE GUTTERING ATTACHED TO THE BACK OF THE BARNS. WE INTEND TO GET THAT UP AND WORKING AGAIN. WE’VE ALREADY GOT THREE RAINWATER BARRELS BUT THAT TANK WOULD BE FABULOUS TO HAVE AND USE...THE COTTAGE IS NOW ATTACHED TO MAINS WATER. SINCE I’M NEVER KEEN ON RELYING UPON UTILITY COMPANIES FOR ESSENTIALS, I’M PLANNING AHEAD. :)

I ALSO PUT THE WYANDOTTE CHICKS OUT IN THE HEN BARN WHERE THE SWEDISH FLOWER HENS ARE. THEY’RE IN A WOODEN HUTCH, SEPARATED FROM THE SWEDES SO THEY DON’T GET PICKED ON. BUT I FELT SO GUILTY FOR PUTTING THEM THERE...THEY’RE WARM, PLENTY OF BEDDING AND STRAW, AND HAVE PLENTY FOOD AND WATER OF COURSE, AND THEY’RE THE SAME AGE AS THE OTHER HENS WHEN WE PUT THEM OUT IN THE BYRES TOO..AFTER ALL, THEY CAN’T STAY IN THE HOUSE IN A BOX FOREVER!

BUT I LOOKED AT THEIR WEE FACES PEEKING OUT OF THE HUTCH WINDOW AND FOR A MOMENT WAS TEMPTED TO BRING THEM BACK INDOORS!

AYE, SOFT EEJIT I AM...

BUT THEY’LL BE FINE, AND ONCE THEY’RE BIG ENOUGH I’LL TRY PUTTING THEM IN WITH THE BRAHMAS. WYANDOTTES ARE LARGE HENS. I’M NOT KEEPING THEM FOR PETS (VEGANS LOOK AWAY NOW PLEASE), THE BIG HENS ARE FOR BREEDING UP FOR MEAT BIRDS, THE SMALLER SWEDES ARE FOR EGG LAYERS. SORRY THOSE WHO THINK ALL CHICKENS SHOULD BE PETS...

BUT I’VE RAISED LIVESTOCK MUCH OF MY LIFE AND IT’S BEEN FOR FOOD, EGGS, MILK AND PELTS. MY DAD WAS A CROFTER (AND PART TIME COAL MINER AT THE NOW CLOSED SMALLEST COAL MINE IN SCOTLAND, BRORA MINE) AND IT’S FROM HIM I LEARNED HOW TO SMALLHOLD.

NOW, SADLY, AGE AND HEALTH ISSUES MEAN HENS ARE ABOUT ALL THE LIVESTOCK I’LL BE KEEPING. IN THE PAST I REARED GOATS, SHEEP, GEESE, DUCKS AND HENS, PIGS AND A SMALL LOCHAN OF TROUT.

DAD KEPT SHEEP, COWS, PIGS AND HENS.

ANYWAY, HOPE EVERYONE’S HAVING A BEAUTIFUL SUNNASDAG. THE SUNSHINE HAS BEEN GORGEOUS, THOUGH IT’LL BE CLOUDY AGAIN TOMORROW. THE BEST WEATHER FORECASTER IN OUR AREA IS AN AULD FELLA WHO IS BETTER BY FAR THAN MET EIREANN. WHEN HE SAYS RAIN’S ON THE WAY, HE’S RIGHT.

[deepintoforestwego]

Away From the Path

Have you ever been in the forest, child?

I guess not. You like to stay away from them, don’t you? Your kind has always sought reasons to run away from them, preferring meadows and valleys ( and why not- your poor eyes aren’t fit for shade of birch and oak, and forests aren’t nice places for sheep). With each century you drift away farther and farther, forgetting days when you crawled among bushes and hid under crown of pines to escape rain and snow.

Such is your right, of course. All living things have their place, and all living things deserve to prosper in optimal circumstances. And humanity could never reach their full potential in the woods. For though they can adapt to so many environments, they need open space, and homes they construct themselves, and most of all they need to be undisputed masters of their dwellings. And it is hard to be so, when you have wolves and bears so nearby you can hear them breathing, can smell their wet fur.

That is why you learnt to fear them.  Always at edges, they were, familiar enough that sometimes you had to forage through them, but dangerous, full of beasts wild and useless to you, and darkness, that you feared letting children wander through them. And doubly so for children of cities, who had never been in true forest, who don’t know their way through, who had never been inside to climb on trees or gather mushrooms or pick tiny strawberries. And so you fill woods with warnings and stories, about monsters and dangers that dwell within.

But still, you always come back.

( To forests, and to the Forests. It is not the same, oh no. First are just bunch of trees and animals, ecosystem humans can be scared of because their survival isn’t guaranteed there, but they aren’t inhospitable. They have no designs and no grudges they wish to see realized, and billions have walked in the woods and made their home there. And should they trouble men too much, they can be cut down.

but the Forests, oh they are something else. They are what you tell legends about, after all. They are homes of dragons and dead, of cursed treasures and blessed solutions, where animals speak and borders between worlds blur. Place where you go when all other options are exhausted, and you must walk the road of needles and pins to satisfy the Quest. A place from before rise of man, and yet perhaps born from men’s legends. Place that thinks for itself, and makes it clear that you are not welcome, and if you wish to gain their aid, you must play by their rules, obey their laws, pay sacrifice they demand.)

But still, someday, some of you come back.Not only when you need something, or look to cut down trees to expand your dominion, but because you are curious bunch, and you love exploring, and uncertainty, and seeing new things. And what is unknown or even forbidden often holds a rare thrill.

And always, always there are people who hear nature’s call. In whose bones is lodged memory of their ancestors, of running amidst thick trees and laughing when they tripped over roots, their nostrils longing to be  filled with scent of wildflowers and loam and rotting leaves, whose fingers yearned to trace themselves over bark and knots of trunks, who would never be bothered by grass stains and pitch on clothes. Who, in another life, might have been counted among birds and beasts and tiny things crawling upon ground.

Are you one such soul?

Perhaps, if you are, you will come to him. The master, the uncle, the guardian of woods. The leshy.

As tall as greatest tree in woods, as short as smallest blade of grass. His eyes, in shape of chestnuts, in colour of all fruits of woods, the raspberries and blueberries and tiny things that can kill deer that swallows them.  Head crowned with antlers and horns, and wildflowers and branches.  His beard, a wild, crawling thing made of moss and lichen and bushes. His skin, cracked as bug infested ancient gray trunk, as shiny and brown and beautiful as bark of healthiest wood. Hands like claws, like roots, like branches of tree, like twigs. Clothed in leaves fresh and ancient, in dying autumn and budding spring, pelts and fur, adorned with mushrooms and beetles. You can see veins all over him, spilling like rivers and creeks through him, water feeding herbs and grass.

Before first seed of first tree sprouted, he was there to plant it. After last is cut down or wither, he will be there to clear it. It is his duty and right to care for animals, to determine which shall be hunted down by men, and how many carnivore may eat through year. Leshy humans call him, the shepherd of wild though it may be faulty metaphor, and he isn’t really he, anyway), but his true name only wind and rivers know, for he is soul of forest, the voice of woods, the will of trees, the law of animals, the god and servant of all life within woods.

They say that he tries to lead people off paths, that he loves to play tricks and maim humans. But then again, many humans don’t have appropriate respect, and he has coexisted with them since before first axe was made and first bonfire lighted (for all forests are one, and all leshies are facets of one another). If you are kind, and wise, you may earn favor, or just a smile, and that is enough.

So come. Walk the roads uncharted. Look if he recognizes you.

[rageagainstthemarine]

here have some monster au. try and guess what legend fahleon is.

Not many dared to live on the edges of the small town, where the trees had grown in close to the fence rotted with time and insects. Ivy wrapped around the wood, its prickling stems wandering ever closer to the old homestead that sat, squat and sunken in the mud, but not yet reached. Cursed, the townspeople called it, when no plant neared the steps. Not even the cows left loose to wander the fields moved any closer to the weeds that grew along its edges, as tall and plenty as they were. There had to be all manner of nasty things hiding within the grasses. Or beneath it, for any attempt to sow anything but the soured, wild berries twisted among the weeds grew to fruiting.

Fahleon had never seen mankind so dislike a challenge. It was only a manner of time before one of them worked up the courage, or the desperation, to till the soil again and warm the hearth with the hackings of the encroaching wood. And sooner than he liked.

A new woman, or a very foolish one, deaf and blind, maybe, to the dishevel and the decay, arrived in the town. She didn't stop at the mayor's house and she didn't stop by one of the many larger farms. Her feet took her past the market and through the green and along the winding unused path.

She marched through like a wildfire with red hair blowing in the breeze and the scent of woodsmoke trailing after. Her feet parted the tall wayside weeds in a clear path and Fahleon dogged after her steps. Every sweep of his tail, black and satin, curled the edges of the grass brown and in his paw prints cockroaches and worms wriggled their way up through the mud and hissed. She turned, all wide eyes and hand on a knife at her belt, and Fahleon felt into the woods quicker than any rabbit. He hadn't seen fear flickering the dark of her eyes, but he, too, liked a challenge.

The garden was the first step. He watched from the edges of the field she'd cleared, a sleeping dog with one eye cracked open to mark the seedlings. At night he stepped over them, lightly, paw after paw to crack the seeds and spoil the dirt. The chickens were next. Some dutiful and friendly, if not wary, neighbors, closest to the forgotten farm, gave the woman three to start her off. Fahleon silenced their clucking. He soured her fruits and he chased off her meat and still she persisted. Thrived. If a lonely woman in a barren house and an empty field could be called thriving.

Curiosity got the better of him. For so long had the people been hesitant to near this land and longer the time it was that they'd even spoken of it. The legends still lingered and the tales were still told - enough that Fahleon thought it would keep everyone away. Either she didn't believe or didn't care - the woman, on her own, still potted her seeds and bought more chickens, a cow, even, and cut down the trees to fix up the house.

Fahleon went to see her in his grandest clothes. A good first impression, he thought, and she deserved that much respect, at least. His hat was a deer skull, bleached from the sun an ashen white and clawed tines decorated with lichens. His hair was bound in a loose braid, dark and long and flowed into on long wave as the thick tail that swept to brush against the ground. All manner of beasts fur made up his tunic and breeches: dark wolf pelt, bear, and darker raven's feathers, and on his ankles before his boots more hoof than sole were anklets make of briar. His knock on the door rattled like chains, and when the woman opened the door at the sound of guests the fire flickered under the rush of stagnant air.

The girl didn't flinch and Fahleon grinned, all sharp teeth and dry lips and thought her lovely.