Nostrosse's Fruit and her Glimmer

Upon arriving in one of the Holy city of Arsinian's border towns, a place named Pellian for my father, my daughter Tamzin and I were approached by an old student of mine. Whilst our escorts secured our horses and carriages, we were invited to indulge in my student's research, a particular treat as it became clear that he was now a master in his own right. He was working on a local history, both archaeological and theological in nature, concerning a fruit tree grove just beyond the town's northern walls. A site he had become so enamoured with that he intended to build a home for himself in some adjacent land, taking the grove as his garden. Of course this student's name is Piren, and this house would be the site of his and my daughter's wedding, and the birthplace of my first granddaughter Noseah.

The grove itself, I was told by a farmer nearby, has long been believed to be the home of a den-god by the name of Nostrosse. A gentle goddess he claimed was responsible for protecting children. This belief seems to be in reference to the fruit from the grove, a juicy kind of pear, which is said to have been of such a sweet aroma and taste that it was only palatable to children. Piren has, accurately in my estimation, linked this phenomena to the teaching stone that stood east of Almighty Pencitta at the Felled Tower Gardens. A large keystone with the image of a leaf carved into it that was once a part of the now collapsed fortress. It was said that it would guide children to berry bushes with fruit that only the young could see.

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Nostrosse herself seems to be a syncretism of, or a parallel to, the daughter of Kesh (Luneth, Celu, Kath), or, as asserted by Piren, an aspect of an older god that is greater than the 'den' status. He names this entity Gwelye. Found decorating a simple shrine carved into a tree deep in the grove, I have transliterated a poem on the following page:

She is the wind between the trees,

The song of light drunk leaves,

Her breath the chime for birds,

Inspiration to make of chirps new words,

Her eyes are dancing sunbeams,

And her hair it's warming touch,

It frames her face so she can gleam,

I see her with eyes shut,

because her glimmer is so much.

From 'My First New Travels', chapter iv in “The Endless Pilgrimage” by Saint Tomevel Rayleigh the Suitable