Brother Fir

It was time for a visit to The House of Stories. It occurred to me that She of the Stories has been overwhelmed by all her comings and goings lately, and she's been up to her ears in stories. Hm. I took a bottle of spiced elderflower and pottered along there to see what she was up to today. Her Story Chamber is right at the top of the house, you know, which rather reminds me of my turret room on the island.

I was quite taken aback, I must admit, as she appeared to be throttling a dragon. The dragon was bellowing no end, but she seemed to be getting the better of it. When she saw me, she stamped on its head and it stopped the racket at once. Apparently it wasn't a dragon at all, it was something called a Heaver - is that right? for cleaning floors. She seemed to have a most impressive mastery of it. She sprinkles lavender on the carpets before heavering to make the room smell nice.

She tells me that the House of Stories has been most neglected of late, so she has been cleaning, sweeping, washing, heavering and knocking down cobwebs all day. What with all those tables and chairs, carpets on floors, wardrobes full of clothes, her house is so confusing! And complicated! And books, of course. On the island we keep our stories and knowledge in our heads or on the Threadings.

Never mind. That's the way she lives. Hm. But I am deeply contented with my turret room, my windowboxes, my little bed and few bits of furniture, and, of course, a fire. With apple logs in the grate, a cordial, and, now and again, someone to share it with.