Feodora and I were at it again. She wanted me to chop enough wood for the next five days, in case a storm comes. There have been signs of a big storm coming, she said. Dark clouds are approaching us from the east and the air is becoming moist by the day. But chopping five days’ worth of firewood, that’s easier said than done. After all, she’s not the one guarding the city all day. She’s not the want who chased down a thief stealing from Arcadia’s alchemy shop, stopped a rampaging bear near stables outside the walls, or stood at the gates for six hours. So I told her I’ll do it tomorrow. Just like that, she summoned the wrath of Ysgramor on me. I had to get little Fiona out of the room and put her to bed. I swear, Feodora was so loud that even the monks at temple heard us.
Oh Feodora, my love, how did we come to this?
1st of Last Seed, 4E 201.
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