In the heart of a picturesque landscape where forests and meadows meet the blue sky, lies the small, idyllic village of Afloria. This quaint settlement, with its sprawling lands extending along the crystal-clear Edyna River, is surrounded by lush forests filled with wildlife and fields blossoming with vibrant flowers.
The Edyna River is a lifeline for the village, providing not only water but also a place for recreation and relaxation. Its banks are lined with willow trees, their long branches dipping gracefully into the water. In the early morning, the river is often shrouded in a delicate mist, giving it a magical, ethereal quality.
A well-trodden path runs alongside the river, used by villagers for their daily walks. On warm days, families gather on the riverbanks for picnics, children splash in the shallows, and the more adventurous take boats out onto the water. Fishing is a popular pastime, and it's common to see villagers casting lines from the small wooden pier or the stone bridge that spans the river near the village.
Afloria is a village that celebrates the changing seasons with joy and tradition. In spring, the villagers come together to plant flowers and prepare the fields. The Spring Festival is a highlight, featuring music, dancing, and the crowning of the May Queen.
Summer brings long, lazy days and the Harvest Festival, where the bounty of the land is celebrated with feasts and merriment. Autumn is marked by the changing leaves and the Harvest Moon Dance, a beloved event held in the village square, where everyone gathers to dance under the full moon.
Winter, though cold, is a time of warmth and togetherness. The village is often blanketed in snow, turning it into a scene from a fairy tale. The Winter Festival includes ice skating on the frozen river, the lighting of the village Christmas tree, and the sharing of stories by the fire in the village hall.
At the center of Afloria is a charming village square, the heart and soul of the community. The square is paved with cobblestones, worn smooth by the passage of countless feet over the years. At its center stands an ancient oak tree, its gnarled branches spreading wide, providing shade and a sense of history. Beneath this grand tree is a stone bench, often occupied by the village elders who share stories of bygone days with the younger generation.
The village market is held here every Saturday, transforming the square into a bustling hub of activity. Stalls line the edges, offering everything from fresh produce and homemade jams to handcrafted goods and trinkets. The air is filled with the mingling scents of fresh bread, blooming flowers, and the tang of cured meats.
The homes in Afloria are as charming as the village itself. Each house is unique, yet they all share a common architectural style that exudes warmth and comfort. Most are constructed from timber and stone, with thatched or shingled roofs. Flower boxes brimming with colourful blooms adorn the windows, and ivy often climbs the walls, adding to the rustic charm.
The village is laid out in a semi-circular pattern, with the river forming a natural boundary on one side. The houses closest to the square are slightly larger, with neat gardens and white picket fences. Further out, the homes become more spaced apart, each set on its own plot of land. These more remote houses have larger gardens, often with vegetable patches, fruit trees, and occasionally, a small barn or stable.
Beyond the houses, the landscape opens up into vast meadows and fields. In spring and summer, these fields are a sea of colour, with wildflowers swaying in the gentle breeze. Poppies, daisies, and buttercups are a common sight, and the sweet scent of lavender and honeysuckle fills the air.
The villagers of Afloria are a close-knit community. Known for their resilience and resourcefulness, they are a mix of old residents and newcomers who have come to rebuild and breathe new life into the village. The scars of a recent war, which ended only a few years ago, are still visible. Many of the original inhabitants were either lost or displaced, leaving behind an aging population and a number of vacant homes and workshops.
In recent times, new settlers have arrived, taking over the abandoned trades and properties. The village blacksmith, once a bustling workshop, is now run by a skilled yet taciturn man who moved from a distant town. He works diligently, his forge a place of warmth and constant activity, the rhythmic sound of hammer on anvil a familiar part of the village's daily soundtrack.
The local bakery, a cornerstone of the community, is now managed by a middle-aged couple who inherited the business from the previous owners. They are known for their warm, crusty bread and delicious pastries, and every morning, the aroma of freshly baked goods wafts through the village, drawing customers in for breakfast treats and afternoon snacks.
Afloria's inn, once a haven for weary travelers, is now in the hands of a young woman who has transformed it into a cozy gathering place. The inn's common room, with its crackling fireplace and sturdy wooden furniture, often hosts villagers sharing meals, stories, and companionship.
The village's spiritual needs are tended to by a compassionate cleric, who presides over the quaint stone church on the hill. Though the congregation is small, the sense of community is strong, and the church remains a symbol of hope and resilience for the villagers. The cleric's wisdom and guidance are sought after by both the older residents and the newcomers, creating a bridge between the past and the future.
One crisp autumn morning, as the villagers of Afloria went about their daily routines, a strange and unsettling presence was felt at the edge of the forest. The few children who played near the woods were the first to notice — a figure moving slowly among the trees, appearing and disappearing like a shadow. Word quickly spread, and soon the entire village was abuzz with curiosity and apprehension.
As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the fields and river, the figure emerged from the forest's edge. It was a woman, but there was something decidedly unusual about her. She moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, her eyes darting around as if she were seeing the world for the first time.
Her appearance was both haunting and beautiful. She wore a simple dress, tattered and torn from her journey, and around her neck hung a strange amulet that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. Her eyes, wide and curious, held a depth of sadness and wisdom that suggested she had seen and endured much.
The air was thick with anticipation as she approached the village square, where the ancient oak tree stood as a silent witness to her arrival. The village elder was the first to approach. His eyes, though sharp with age, softened as he looked at the stranger. "Welcome," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You are safe here in Afloria. Come, rest and tell us your story."
Those were the first kind words Iktomi had heard in this world. But could she share her story? No, she wouldn't risk it. She barely even knew if her voice would work well.
"I... we were attacked. I survived alone... I have nowhere to go," these were the only words she was able to utter.
"That is terrible! Don't worry child, you are safe here. You can stay; we have some abandoned houses waiting for new tenants. But we also need people who can work for the sake of the village. Is there anything you can do to help?" He tried to sound kindly, but Iktomi knew she had just been given an ultimatum - you can stay, but you have to do something for the village.
What could she do? She possessed some memories from her old life... she did some healing maybe? And she liked to cook? And... she knew a lot about plants in the forests. Maybe they would agree to that?
"I know forest plants and what they do... and some potions," she said honestly. During her travels she encountered lots of them and somehow it was easy for her to understand it all. Maybe thanks to her being a spider? Or was it some other gift...?
"Oh! Perfect! We are in dire need of a herbalist, you see. There's even an old house owned by the previous herbalist. He was an elderly man who died in the battle. No family left. You can even learn a lot from his large study."
Iktomi smiled lightly. This was how it all started, becoming an herbalist in Afloria.