Willowford

A Season of Change

Bevan
The pale glare of summer softened its gaze as the pregnant earth yielded its bounty. Farmers remark on the favorable weather as they smile in passing. An oddly tilting ladder supports an artisan laying brush across weathered oak. Below him a woman of healthy girth and baring broad tooth smile folds her arms approvingly. A mason’s cart groans in protest as well-fed mules shoulder the load along an inclined cart path. In the park near a cobbling ford, tall grasses aid a game of hide-and-seek. Rosy faces mount like farmers fruit on the stands of timothy, youthful laughter breaking over the running rivers voice.

Willowford prospers on the heels of an old wound’s mending. Waxing signs of autumn’s harvest flood the Sunday market. Cloistered men scribble the matters of money and exchange while real commerce swells their coffers. Treaties of respect alter the path of stone and mortar. String and post yield to stone and plank as aspirations of heavenly glory take root in earthly moorings.

King’s men sidle into town. Conscriptors by their dress. Those who remember the war speak of other matters, all the while fearing the truth of their situation. King’s wills bend the fortunes of all. Tufted mounds of turned soil still remember the seeds of mothers unfulfilled dreams as stirrings of conflict roil and simmer in the west.

Sermons turn to speculation and hope for the kinder hearts of men. Youthful faces dream of distant glory in the shadows of sires lament.

— Prior Bevan’s Journal September 15, 1264.

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