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reality check: it is winter now
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words: 298
In the last handful of weeks, the weaver known as Theodoric had gone from extreme bashfulness to a less-obvious-but-still-noticeable awkwardness. He felt like a clumsy youth again and rather disliked the sensation. At home he had been a respected figure. Of course, he hadn't yet had the full weight of a master's knot behind him, but he had been recognized as a talented adept in a family well-known for excellence in their craft. He himself had not thought any different. All his life had been raised to become a manipulator of cotton and wool; he had neither a rebellious nor particularly imaginative personality, so why should he think to change?
He was almost ready to start working again. There was a hollowed mini-cavern with his name on it, and now he just needed the inspiration for a new project. Two obstacles lay in his way. First, he had no design yet and secondly and perhaps more importantly, he had nothing with which to color his wool. An unfortunate event at sea had left his stock of herbs waterlogged and useless, and by this part of the year he was far beyond having any luck searching for more. Not that any herbs growing here would be familiar, anyway.
On this windy day Theo was out and about, warm cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He was wandering aimlessly, enjoying crisp winter air that quite blotted out any inclination for thought. Suddenly and without much warning, he stumbled across what appeared to be kept earth where the dried husks of plants grew in ordered rows. Bending down to inspect closer, he smiled softly as he touched one of the crisp leaves tenderly and tried to identify it. A pity he hadn't been here two months earlier.
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