Excerpt from the diary of Philip Burnsey, year of the great Numens 9978, month of Vilsestre, day 27

It was a dark and stormy night, the one where I lost my Chamomile. You have to know, i wasn’t always a farmer, I began my life as the son of an errant knight, Dame Igonia, who took me with her in all her campaigns. Seeing her work all those years, the sweat, the blood, and… the deaths, made me veer towards taking a different way. I first tried to join the temple, to become a cleric, and to devote my life only to the Numens. And it was going pretty well, I was almost at the stage where they would anoint me minister of the faith and share with me the sacred litanies. But I decided to throw that out the window the second I met my first love. I left the temple for her, and she brought me here, in her hometown. It was a quaint little place, far from the borders of the empire. Far from the fighting, from death and maladies. Far from my mother. Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be, and the only thing that remained was this small farm we bought together for our future family, before she ran away with some noble lad. I may have dodged an arrow there, not marrying her as I wished to do from my first day. Betrayers betray, and being left here with sons and daughters to take care off would have been… Less than ideal. But I'm digressing. Going back to that fateful day, I was shepherding the girls back from the pasture and could not see more than a palm from my nose, even with the magic lantern that that old man gave me. We were finally home, and I went to put them back in their hut, but while counting them (a task that ironically makes me always a bit sleepy, I have to add) I was suddenly struck awake by a deep growl coming from the woods. A primal fear gripped me, and I hurriedly closed the gates before finishing the count. I started it again, while being inside the hut with my fluffy friends, but then I realized that there were only nine, of the ten sheep that I owned, inside.

Panic overcame me, and I did the only thing a man, alone, in the middle of the woods, could do: I ran like the wind out of the hut to ask for help.

At first, I tried my luck in the marketplace, but all the shops were closed, the windows sealed shut to brace for the storm, and I was really losing hope when a thought surfaced in my mind: maybe the old man who gave me the lantern could be of some help. He seemed to be more than met the eye, somehow. I immediately changed my course and continued to run, risking tripping multiple times because of the muddy streets, but I finally managed to reach the house. No window was closed shut, and i could see light from inside. I was out of breath, but I didn't have time to waste. I accosted the door, and knocked, crying for help. The door opened, slowly, but there was no old man behind, but a weird, old crone, clutching a mug of herbal tea and clad in a woolen dressing gown. She asked me who I was looking for, and told me that the old bastard (her words, not mine) decided that the weather was perfect for research on one of the books he was writing. Something about rods and lightning. She offered to help, though. She told me that she was good with animals, and that she should go alone, since I did not know these woods as well as she did, and I could step in for a mug of tea, and just wait in front of the fireplace. Her firmness, and the gentleness of her husky voice convinced me: I would wait here, as a good boy should. This thought did not strike me as strange until days after the event, but in that moment, that’s what I felt like. A young lad waiting for their caretakers to be back. I felt the same way as I did when my mother was called in service for a battle by some petty squabble over land, and she told me to wait, because there wasn’t a way she would not come back to me. No way at all. So, after she took a strand of my hair and left after putting on a big green coat, I sat there, waiting. The fire was warm, the wood crackling while burning, making small pops. The mug in my hand smelled of thyme, honey and roses. I drank it slowly, savoring every sip. The armchair where I sat was padded, and so soft I… I admit it, I fell asleep. I had some very vivid dreams, though. I was circling the forest, feeling upset and lost. The air was freezing and the rain made every step heavier than the last. I could hear something following me, something big. Something awful. I could hear its muffled steps, and something told me I wouldn’t go home tonight. I started to run, breaking twigs under my steps as I did, and feeling the terrifying presence get closer and closer to me. I could almost smell it's foul breath, death and blood. All of a sudden, though, I heard a booming voice overcoming even the sounds of thunder and rain. It was scary, but also… It felt like safety. I chose to believe. I went toward that voice, leaving the big bad thing behind me. I walked and walked, my fur getting heavier but the voice getting nearer, until two wizened, calloused hands touched my face before bringing me closer and kissing my forehead. I heard the person saying “You're safe now. Let's get you back home.”

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I woke up at that moment, and I found the weird old lady in the room, wet as a bucket of water, scrunging her scarf into a bowl.

She told me to go home and that everything was well, but that she would come and ask me a small favor in the future. I assured her I would repay this debt, fully trusting Chamomile was home and safe. And she was huddled with her sisters. I hug them all. I cried, for a bit, and slept with them that night. All was well.

The day after, the woman came, and asked me for the wool of Chamomile when it would've been time for the shearing.

I kept true to my word. She made a nice green scarf for her husband, it seems.

I hope to one day have a woman like her in my life.