After viewing his second journey through time, Garinor decided to return to Elder Dorin. He felt weary and he stumbled a little as he walked. His mind wandered over the information he had gleaned from his views into the portals of time. Part of him wondered if he shouldn’t have seen all three of them.
His hand felt for the door handle, but it wouldn’t open. He knocked on the door and hoped Elder Dorin would let him in. A nap was all he really wanted.
“He is out and about, young friend,” said a woman over his shoulder. “The Elder will return in a short while. For now, I’m Freia, come join me.” She led him a few houses away and there he was invited inside.
The woman’s hut was decorated in numerous fabrics of various colors. Red and orange pillows clashed with the green and yellow sheets on the bed in the corner. A tablecloth was spread over a low tree stump, or so it looked from Garinor’s vantage point. The gaudy cloth was punctuated with roses, tulips, and sunflowers sewn in a random assortment. Frilly blue and pink napkins were folded all around the outer edge of the table in no particular pattern. Certainly, there was some other purpose to the numerous napkins than for adding color or wiping spills.
Three chairs lined the back wall, each with chain patterns etched into the fabric. The pattern was replicated in the wood itself, making them seem like young trees had been tamed and turned into furniture. The thought made Garinor chuckle softly.
A small glass of wine was placed in Garinor’s hand. “Drink it, dear,” Freia said sweetly, turning toward her kitchen and finding some bread and cheese. “And nosh on this as well.”
Garinor had never had wine before and he started by drinking it like water. He gagged on the first mouthful. His nose burned ferociously, having accidentally snorted some in his choking. He set the goblet down and took a few minutes to compose himself. All the while, the woman hovered over him, interchangeably laughing and patting him on the back, crooning, “There, there.”
Once he was settled, Freia stared intently at Garinor and then made a sound. “Did you learn of the prophecy in your viewings? Something about a scepter, the prince, and the heir to the kingdom?”
Garinor looked up at her but didn’t say anything as he was munching on a large bite of bread.
Freia waved her hands. “No matter. It’s a tale we all know of here and it would be a wonder if your experience hadn’t given you some clue. Someone has to choose between them, the prince and the heir, and the scepter is the key to it.” She smiled softly then. “But ignore my nonsense now. Eat up. You look famished.”
Some time later, Garinor’s glass was nearly empty and the bread and cheese were all but gone. He hadn’t spoken much, but Freia had no need to share a conversation. She was perfectly content rattling on about all sorts of plant dyes and soaking threads for appropriate amounts of time, mixing powders in to help preserve the colors or to exemplify their brilliance. Setting the soaked threads out to dry was ever problematic because some part of the thread needed to touch something, and therefore the dye would never quite set there properly. She delighted in showing Garinor a long metal clasp that had a hinge on the longest edge. It flipped up and she could set the ends of long strings in there, snap the frame closed, and hang it outside on a tree. Of course, then dust was an issue. For that she had sewn a long cloak of sorts to enshroud the hanging threads and protect them from dust while still letting air through.
And so on and so forth she went, talking all the while. When she took a long pause to down her own goblet of wine, Garinor thought he would find a way to excuse himself and be on his way. But such was not the case. Instead, she let out a loud, satisfied sigh and, having spoken so much of coloring her wonderful threads, started to spin tales of all the things she could sew with them.
It was then Garinor fell asleep.