(Author’s Note – Yesterday’s story was missed due to time spent brainstorming and ambling about in the land of Skyrim. Not quite as bad as those times I have gotten lost in Civilization IV though.)
Every day the old woman of the woods would make her trip up the winding paths of the hills to the Grensolm Waterfall, carrying a large wooden bucket in one hand, and a wicker basket in the other. When the young of the village of Grensolm would ask her why she journeyed all that way instead of going to the streams like everyone else, all she would do is smile and say:
“Ah, it may be easier, but the walk does me do, and my reward is pure, cool and crisp water. Now tarry me not, lest I decide not to leave some cooling sweet cakes on my windowsill later.”
With gleeful sounds from the children, they would run off to play, and the old woman would continue onwards to her destination, picking wildflowers, fruits and herbs on her way up. She would always thank the plants for their produce, and were they looking slightly wilted freely share her water with them as they did their product with her.
Checking to make sure she was unseen, the old woman followed a narrow path around the back of the waterfall. The ledge widened out a bit as it dipped into the mouth of a cave, a small stone bench there formed naturally perhaps from the dripping water. With her bucket placed to catch the water, she would sit back and stare at the streams, letting the light play through the currents. From that, she gleaned insight into the world and its happenings, using the same skills in hydromancy that her mother had taught her, and that she had taught her children.
The bucket filled, and she returned home. When the children came for their sweet cakes, taken while cooling from the windowsill, one young boy remained nearby to eat his, while his playmates ran back to the village. And in that little grove where he sat, worrying about his father’s lame foot and his mother’s worries about food for them, he happened across the wicker basket, packed with various little gifts from nature.
“Go ahead, young one.” The old woman’s voice said softly, startling the boy. “As the forest gives freely to me, it is only right for me to pass the blessings on. You may return the basket tomorrow, I have a spare I can use for my next walk.”