The farmer's spirit cannot return, but it can get a message through thanks to an observant medium. He forgives the death, understands it was an accident, and only wants for his family to find peace in their lives, and to live good lives. He also forgives the Elf that killed him, hoping the being finds redemption.
@internutter/challenge-03507-i219-making-amends -- DaniAndShali
Old madwomen of the woods were to be expected, honestly. In tracking the source of the farm's sour soil, Wraithvine had one leap on hir from a gorse bush. "It's you, it's you, I saw you. Wraithvine the Eternal, yes. Yes, they will call you that. Korben Tiller wanted me to tell you some things."
Wraithvine lowered hir defensive shield. "Did you know the man?"
"Not in the slightest," cheered the grizzled old lady apparently wearing a tangled mesh of vines. She also had antlers strapped to her head. A sure and certain sign of a Druid. "Old Minta keeps to herself, yes she does. The trees and the creatures of the wild wood are better company than many."
Since they knew each other, and since Wraithvine still felt the guilt of a murder, ze fell to hir knees and bowed hir head. "Tell me all that must be told."
"He forgives you," said Old Minta. "He knows you tried to act for a greater good. You couldn't know everything. He says he's glad you're seeing to the little ones. Looking after Lulani. He says you're a good person, in spite of what you think of yourself." The mad old lady of the forest patted Wraithvine's shoulder and lifted hir hat to kiss hir brow. "He also says you'll find what you're looking for a quarter mile further upstream."
Wraithvine's head was spinning. "All that, he's said to you."
"Wouldn't leave me alone. Don't make me find you again. I hate hammering ideas into thick skulls. It's why I live in a cave." she turned, giving hir a dismissive wave. "Bugger off. I have mushrooms to cook." And then she was gone, vanishing into the forests' greenery as if she had never been there at all.
Wraithvine might begin to believe ze was losing hir mind. But, a quarter of a mile upstream, ze found the source of Soursoil Farm's trouble. A storm had changed the path of the water, and it now washed over a peck of malachite and lapis. Both toxic to anything that also used the water.
Ze wove a generous basket, carved a shovel, and began digging them out. Hir coat served as a dump for the shovel-loads.
No more poison water. No more sour soil. After a period of laying fallow, of course. Thank the gods that the Tillers only used the stream water for washing.
And, for the bargain, a healthy amount of rough gemstones to pay what hir hair could not.
Tomorrow, Wraithvine would use some of that hair and a portion of gemstones to bargain with either local Goblins or Kobolds regarding things to grow that would suck up poison from soil. They would have a vast amount of experience regarding such things.
Tomorrow, things may yet improve for them all.
[Image by carole smile on Unsplash]
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