Agrarian

“Thank you, Sister Yselwen. We thank Kari’s Light for guiding you to us in our hour of need.”

Yselwen gave the Elder a smile and a bow, resisting the urge to correct him. She wasn’t a Sister of his faith. But she held her tongue and turned away from the gathered villagers and the settlement. Once over the hill and fully out of sight, her shoulders drooped and her smile dropped. Rubbing a few frustrated circles on her forehead in an attempt to dispel the headache of dealing with the religiously righteous and ignorant, she turned from the packed dirt path and out into the wild fields. She took deep breaths as the scents of nature washed away the cloying dregs of the human settlement that seemed determined to cling to her.

“Yggdrasil nerth iy thoir,” she prayed, fingers brushing against the stalks of wild wheat as she passed. She needed all the strength Yggdrasil could grant her after dealing with the Karites. At least the farmers had taken her teachings and blessings to heart. Not parroted like so many in recent days, but an actual understanding of the connection they were calling upon. It wasn’t enough to bring Yggdrasil to prominence, even if she could spread that same message to a thousand farmers across Westria, but it did sustain Her.

Normally, she didn’t stray far from the borders of Easter, content to spread the Blessings of Yggdrasil where it was more accepted. But with a famine tearing its way across Lyr, she felt it was a ripe opportunity to help some people and spread Yggdrasil’s teachings a little wider. With a huff, she spun back toward her next destination, having not noticed she’d stopped to stare toward that stupid village with its stupid elder. They wouldn’t starve come winter and that was more important than a silly man pushing his faith on her.

And so it went, village after village, town after town. Meetings with priests, elders, mayors, and farmers. Dealing with the initial distrust of her skin, the color of oak leaves in the autumn, or the claims of heresy at her words. But they all wanted to live, wanted to eat. So she taught and blessed and spoke to those that would listen. 

“Bennachd na Yggdrasil ar talah se,” would be repeated in broken, Westrian accents with earnest intent. 

“Gabthasinn a toirt Yggdrasil don tiodlac seo,” some would say on her departure, clutching at crudely woven tree effigies. 

For decades, Priestess Yselwen wandered the lands of Axia, Westria, and Northi. Where she tred, the famine faded. Her blessings and the teachings of Yggdrasil took root in small villages and in farmers’ hearts. The Dryad of the Fall became a myth and a legend, invoked in the same blessings she once taught. Some say that she still wanders the fields near Easter to this day, blessing those in need.