Chapter 24
What did she Mean to me?
Brewer’s Reputation: 1,282.
Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.
Either the dim blue light of dawn woke me, or the drizzle. Abigail slept upon her bedroll beneath a tossed and turned blanket. It was probably early. I saw daylight before any of the birds below. We had chosen to camp near the bottom of the giant and bushy wych elm which was still hundreds of feet high. By the time I wiggled free of my bedding and sat up to rub my eyes, I heard the sudden songs of birds far below. Innumerable flocks had made such a giant tree their home. Hawks circled below. I could barely make out their form through the water that streamed down the wall of Abigail’s Warm Bubble Sheltering attribute.
I passed a hand through the 2'' thick bubble wall. Cold water ran over my fingers.I could feel the vibrations from drizzle hitting the bubble. The use of Brewer’s Bubble parted the steaming water like it was but a curtain.
The world lay clear before me, striped with drizzle.
Everything was a jungle green. The rain brought out the color in things, and there was nothing but life spread out below. Every single leaf was disturbed by the patter of drizzle. The northern wilderness almost sang with rain and beaten, rustling leaves. From so high, it all appeared like a green crashing sea.
The blue sea was a haze, a block of haze that sat on the world as only a canyon wall could sit. I peered but could not make out the goblin freebooters. If I peered long enough, I could argue that those dark shapes might be the fleet.
Drizzle beats the fat, elliptic leaves of the wych elm. Each drop of rain hit the leaves with the sound of wrinkled paper. I did not ever want to leave the branch. I was so moved by the beauty of the morning that I wanted to live and die there.
Animals would find our bodies in the maze of colossal boughs in the towering wych elm. Raptors would find us after soaring to new heights one day and exploring the deep shadows of the tree. And after they fed from our meat, perhaps they’d nest there and reluctantly leave the vista to hunt daily. Boughs as long as creeks stretched out from the gnarled trunk of the wych elm. And if ever the tree fell into the sea and washed ashore somewhere far away, whatever civilization came upon the bleached bone looking wood might think an ancient giant had perished.
Those moments were mine; mine alone. Abigail slept soundly, crumpled. She turned. A mess of hair washed out onto the bark. She turned her face and breathed slowly and deeply.
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What were we becoming? What did this woman mean to me? I wanted her here with me. And how could someone like her want the same? Where had she been when I needed a childhood friend? Why did the absence of shared early years make me feel so robbed?
We had to make up for lost time and I needed to tell her that.
I felt compelled to attempt a golden chapter beer. I gave it all I had with the intention to stuff it with my entire morning. Alas, it was only an attempt and it turned into a simple Memory attribute beer.
The Memory attribute beer, paired with the past few days of brewing, brought my Brewer’s Harvest skill to level 1745, Fire and Roast to level 1766, 1948, Mash Master to level 1948, Brewer’s Chill to level 1846, and Flash Ferment to level 1893. Still no progression to gold rank. Brewer’s Bubble, Hop Wallop, and Forge Ethereal label were all stuck at level 1999.
Foam Cascade rose to level 1626, and I had brought the sub skill Cream Shaved Ice to an even level 500.
“How long have you been up?” Abigail said groggily.
“I’ve been trying for a golden chapter.”
“When did it start raining?”
“I woke up to it.”
“Think it will continue?”
“All day,” I said.
Abigail wrestled out of her blanket and put her affairs away. She came over and sat beside me.
“Fruit?” she said.
We ate apples, figs, and cherries that she bought at Lavenfauvish markets.
“Let’s try that beer,” Abigail said. “Memory attribute, I’m guessing.”
We shared a small mug of a Drunk Defiance attribute beer before moving on to my latest brew.
The foam looked like shards of white mica. It formed a cone over the beer and collapsed when rammed by a nose and a lip. The malt was light because of the crisp lager style. It was honey sweet with notes of woodland strawberries hidden beneath fresh straw. Motes of crisp buttered biscuit haunted every other sip. The carbonation was fierce and made my mouth feel like it had fallen asleep.
The memory was a complete picture of the moment I woke up until my final thought that Abigail and I had to make up for lost time; that I needed to tell her that.
As soon as the memory was over, we shared eye contact. She blushed and smiled small.
The drizzle continued to tap the leaves. Water cascaded down the walls of the sheltering bubble. The movement of the canopies below mesmerized us.
The rest of the early morning was spent studying and brewing. While I worked on cloning ethereal dungeon beers, Abigail worked on her Thewwy’s Puncheon tap shard quest with oats and rye. When she needed bottles, I forged ethereal labels for her. After donating her latest beers, she had 468-7000 shards.
We would stop later to hop onto Beyond the Cabin to brew goblin spit beer together. In the meantime, we resumed our hike. We dove off the branch of the wych elm and fell with the drizzle. For the time that we raced down to earth, the drizzle was frozen with us.
We arrived at the foot of the gnarled roots of the wych elm that sprawled like giant, twisted sea serpents. Even the bark was like scales. Our route lay southeast. We leapt over branches and passed under arcs.
All around us, glistening in the dim morning light, Honey Cocoons wiggled all around us, everywhere, as far as we could see. They seemed to soak up the drizzle.