“Don’t let her eat the mushrooms or I’ll turn you both into tundra toads!”

Nay looked down at Juniper who was munching on mushroom caps.

“Uh, Juniper,” Nay said.

Juniper ignored her.

“Juniper, my dear, those aren’t our mushrooms,” Nay said.

Juniper looked up at her, pieces of gilled and gray mushrooms on her snout, with big innocent eyes. She then looked back down to eat some more.

“Juniper!” Nay tugged on the reins and Juniper snorted, finally getting the message. “I’m sorry, but we can’t eat stuff that doesn’t belong to us. This is someone’s garden.”

She piloted the fauglir out of the fungal garden and back onto the snow path leading to the Lodge.

The front door to the two-story cabin burst open and an elderly druidic-looking stitchgal stomped out onto the wooden porch. She was using a wooden staff to help her walk. The top part of the staff branched into a Y and there were feathers, bird claws and...

Were those dried eyeballs?

...hanging off it.

She had thick white hair dusted in snow falling onto her shoulders. There was a strip of black paint across her eyes, from the top of one ear to the other, and when she blinked Nay saw her eyelids were painted yellow.

She was wearing the hide of some feline-type creature on top of her head. It included the creature’s face, its two fangs gripping her forehead like it was biting her skull. She wore a necklace of antlers and her fingers were covered in gold rings.

I hope to god that isn’t a cat she skinned on top of her head.

“Stop!” Volva Serrilda said. “Go no further! This dwelling is protected!”

Nay climbed off Juniper and stood in the snow. “We meant no harm. I can compensate you for the mushrooms. Do you want coin as recompense?”

“I don’t need your coin, girl,” Volva Serrilda said. “I need you to leave me alone!”

“I would do that,” Nay said, “but I’m afraid I need your help.”

Volva Serrilda walked off the porch and down the steps, using her staff as a walking stick. She wielded it with alarming aggression. Soon she was in front of Nay, examining her like a witch gazing at the cast of bone dice.

“Who are you girl? And, what do you need my help for?”

“My name is Nay Favreau. I’m the cook at Quincy’s Lodge.”

Volva Serrilda’s mouth crinkled and one of her eyes narrowed. “’Ol Pat’s the cook at Quincy’s Lodge.”

“’Ol Pat’s passed away.”

This news surprised the crone. She seemed disturbed, as if she realized something was poking holes in the passage of time. “Passed away? But we were supposed to have a tinned fish date. She brings the tinned fish and bread and I make the tea and cookies.”

She drew into herself then, lost in her own thoughts. She chewed on her lip, which deepened the wrinkles on her shrewd face. “The outside world appears to be passing me by.”

“I’m sorry,” Nay said. “I truly am. It seemed like you two were friends.”

“More than friends, girl,” Volva Serrilda said. “We were both old enough to remember the things everyone else in Lucerna’s End seemed to have forgotten.”

There was a haunting sadness on her face, and a whispering wind seemed to pick up around her, uplifting her hair. The antlers on her neck knocked together, creating a sound that was not unlike wind chimes.

“’Ol Pat is actually part of the reason I came to see you.”

Volva Serrilda blinked and her sad face softened, expectant and hopeful.

/////////

The Ravenfeather Lodge was nothing like Quincy’s Lodge. Volva Serrilda’s place was more of a cabin. It was also a familiar landmark for those who lived in Lucerna’s End. To the townsfolk, it was the two-story cabin where the old hermit lady lived, a place mostly to be avoided unless someone’s child needed an esoteric nature remedy. If Volva Serrilda wanted to be seen or socialize, she’d come to town.

Feathers, tails and claws dangled from braided strings hanging from the ceiling of the porch, giving the place a wild one-with-nature vibe. There were runes carved into tree stumps on the property, and Volva Serrilda mentioned they were to keep certain predators out. The markings were relics of the old religion of the human tribes who once lived in Stitchdale.

Because she was an old woman living alone in the woods, her defense system was a hedge of stones and thorns surrounding the lodge and the two large, half-wild fauglir named Bein and Astrid who patrolled the area.

They were brother and sister from the same litter. The fauglir lived outside and kept more tangible predators at bay, but Volva Serrilda would let them in at night to feed them dinner and let them laze in front of her hearth.

Nay left Juniper with them. “Don’t wander too far off, now. I won’t be too long.”

Juniper sniffed Bein and Astrid; they sniffed her. Then they half-galloped, half-sprung into the trees, nipping playfully at each other.

The first floor of the cabin looked like an apothecary exploded and had never been organized again. Herbs and roots and bones were scattered across shelves and tables. Others hung from the wall and ceiling.

Precarious stacks of old tomes leaned against furniture and the whole place was cast in a dim orange glow from the hearth. It smelled of licorice and ginger and vegetable stew.

Volva Serrilda led her to two comfy club chairs in front of the hearth. The leather was ancient and worn.

Nay stepped around the piles of books at their feet and took a seat.

The wild winter crone grabbed what looked like a raw strip of wood from a pile sitting on a rabbit pelt. She stuck the end into the hearth, lighting it.

A pleasant smell of burning pine filled the cabin as she wove the smoke wand in the air. She set it in a jar where it continued to slowly burn. Next, she laid her staff against the wall and settled into her chair with a groan. Then she sat up, suddenly remembering something.

“I haven’t offered you refreshments,” Volva Serrilda said. “Where have my manners gone?”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Nay said. “I don’t think this will take long. You see –“

“Spittle that,” Volva Serrilda said. “I have warm cocoa and butter cookies.”

Nay watched her get up and prattle about in her pantry. “The butter cookies are, unfortunately, a lost art in Lucerna’s End. It’s a mauglim recipe and the dense stitchfolk here failed to continue the tradition of a good, buttery cookie. A light texture, crumbles in the mouth in buttery bits. If I had any say, they’d have never forgotten. Their loss, I suppose.”

She grumbled as she poured warm milk from a tin into wooden mugs.

Nay could smell the chocolate as it melted in the milk. She could see the wisps of steam rising from the mugs.

Volva Serrilda came back with a tray with the warm cocoa and spread of butter cookies. Nay grabbed a mug and took two cookies, then the old woman sat down.

The cookies were shaped like dominos and there were little crows etched into the crispy surface. They had been sprinkled with sugar crystals. Nay took a nibble and they crumbled in her mouth and melted like butter across her tongue. They tasted a lot like a crispy shortbread. She swallowed. “That’s very good.”

Next she took a sip of the warm cocoa and was surprised to find a frothy cream leaving a mustache above her lip. The cocoa flavor was brushed with cinnamon and it was like drinking a nice hot chocolate. She dipped a cookie in the warm cocoa and noticed Volva Serrilda watching her with a smile.

“See,” she said. “To me, they taste even better the more cold it is outside. There is a magic to it, trust me.”

Nay finished her softened cookie and drank more of the warm cocoa, and then it set it aside. “Thank you. If you’re so inclined, if you want to share the recipe for the cookies with me, I can make them at the Lodge and we can put them on the menu.”

“That’s right,” Volva Serrilda said, “you are the new cook! That is a clever idea. You could even keep them in jars and have them on the bar counters for all to see!”

“Sure,” Nay said. “If that’s what you’d like.”

“I will think about it.” Volva Serrilda nibbled on a cookie, her yellow-painted eyelids winking at Nay through the wisps of pine smoke and amber light. “But something tells me you didn’t come here for my cookie recipe.”

“You’re not totally wrong,” Nay said. “I come here to inquire about another recipe.”

“Oh?” Volva Serrilda straightened, intrigued. “Another recipe?”

“Moon cakes,” Nay said.

The wild winter crone processed those words and then tilted her head, nodding. “The eve of the Green Moon Festival is approaching and you need to produce moon cakes in bulk.”

“Exactly,” Nay said. “But the only person who seemed to know how to make the moon cakes has moved on from this world without leaving a recipe behind.”

One of Volva Serrilda’s hands started fidgeting with the antlers hanging from her neck and mused. “No recipe, you say?”

“That’s right,” Nay said. “And I have her recipe book. Nary a mention of moon cake but I did find a curious note.”

Volva Serrilda tilted her head, waiting for an explanation with widened eyes.

“Your name, next to the words, ‘elderflower paste’.”

Volva Serrilda nodded and sat back. She picked up another cookie and took a bite. “I was the one who helped her with the recipe.”

“Oh,” Nay said, somewhat relieved. “So you have it? And would you share it with me?”

“I would if I could,” Volva Serrilda said. “Except I didn’t teach her the recipe. I just gave her directions on where to get it.”

“I’m sorry,” Nay said. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“The recipe for the particular kind of elderflower paste moon cakes use is something of a secret,” Volva Serrilda said. “It was shared with ‘Ol Pat, and if she didn’t write it down anywhere, then it seems it still remains a secret.”

“But you said you gave her directions on where to get it.”

“Moon cakes were a delicacy shared with the stitchfolk by one of the Friends of Men who dwells in the mists of Maer Scathan.”

“Friends of Men?”

“One of the first folk who dwelt here before anyone else.”

“Okay…”

“Her name is Aule and,” Volva Serrilda paused for a second, thinking, then continued, “I can give you direction on how to find her, but there’s no guarantee she’ll give you the recipe.”

Nay was baffled. She tried not to show her irritation. “What’s the big deal about this recipe? A well-kept family secret is one thing, but I’m beginning to think the recipe must be magical.”

“It may be,” Volva Serrilda said. “It’s a Friend of Men recipe so it’s very old. Their knowledge isn’t shared very often with man today. If at all. But, you can try and find her. What happens next is up to her.”

“She must have liked ‘Ol Pat, though,” Nay said. “Since she shared the recipe with her.”

“’Ol Pat was a loyal lass,” Volva Serrilda said. “The Friends of Men can sense qualities like that on a person. It’s said they can judge a person’s character with a glance.”

Nay swallowed.

Great. The success of the Green Moon Festival would hinge on whether or not some old being deemed Nay worthy or not. Just fantastic.

“Don’t look so troubled,” Volva Serrilda said, chuckling. “It’s just a treat. The town might deserve to go without moon cakes during the festival for a while. After all, they don’t seem to care about my butter cookies. The fools.”

---

[Quest Detected]

[Quest: Find Aule in Maer Scathan]

[Accept Quest Y/N?]