“Hmmm…that’s a really good question, something I think everyone should consider,” said Trygve. “Let me think for a–“
“Are you kidding me?” asked Elspeth. “Do you even know what clutter is? Your possessions are so precisely selected, organized and used to maximize efficiency and reduce waste. I have never seen so much as a left over stem. And as a hunter? I am not sure that I want to know what you do with…certain animal parts….”
“Speaking of, I’ve never made you my Da’s offal stew have I?”
Elspeth frowned. Offal was big in Bosmeri families in Cyrodill and it triggered two distinct feelings: sorrow, for the memories of Sundas dinner with Andil and his mother. And disgust. Because offal stew was, no matter how lovingly prepared, no matter how well seasoned, absolutely revolting.
“On what line?” asked Lydia. “Is that some sort of magic spell? A way to send messages?”
“I thought that was when Runa used to pin notes on parchment to the clothing line,” said Elspeth.
“No, that’s not it,” interjected Trygve. “You misheard, he asked in what ways do you communicate on limonite, which is a common type of iron ore. Although, I cannot imagine for the life of me, why you would communicate anything on limonite, though I suppose you could use it to weigh down parchment outside the door of a mine, if needed.”
“I would give my left foot for one of Runa’s apple dumplings right now,” said Elspeth. “With a cup of hot tea. There is nothing better. Even Xeri couldn’t resist them.”
“Oh! You should try Fralia’s dumplings. When we’re back in Whiterun we should ask her to bake you some!” Lydia said. “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if she and Runa had the same recipe. Our families were always sharing that sort of thing, the Battle Borns too.”
“That sounds really nice,” said Elspeth. “We didn’t have any friends like that in Bruma. What about you Trygve, what snack would you eat right now?”
“But that’s what you are eating right now. Is that all you want?”
“It’s all I need.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” said Lydia. “I know for a fact that when he buys taffy treats for Lars and Mila, he gets an extra for himself.
Elspeth thought for a moment. Once they moved to Brumua, Xeri made a point of discouraging such attachments. But things were more normal in the Spire. “My baby quilt–the one my grandma made for me,” she said after some thought. “I suppose it’s still up at Frostcraig Spire. I imagine mother packed those things away. She wasn’t terribly sentimental but it’s hard to imagine she disposed of them.”
“My bow.” Trygve said.
“You’re still attached to your bow.”
“Yes, but it’s a different bow. My childhood one, the one I learned archery with, that one was kind of special. I still have it. I thought I would pass it on to a son or daughter but….well that seems unlikely now.”
His tone hadn’t wavered, but he did pause there for a moment and Elspeth couldn’t help but wonder what Trygve might want for himself, if he hadn’t taken on so much responsibility.
When I got the email noting the anniversary of my blog, I honestly thought there was some kind of mistake. I had to check and sure enough, it was ten years ago yesterday that I posted my first entry, the Prologue to what I was calling at the time, Elspeth’s Epic Disaster.