Dirk, a tailor by trade, often frequented different places of beauty throughout Bree-land, on his increasingly lengthy dinner breaks. He spent his days working and treating leathers in a workshop in Combe. He was a man who focused on the smaller things in life, good food and ale but also that of nature. One would often, when in his company, think of him as shy; but he bore a joyful and genuine smile and would attempt to bring cheer out of the grumpiest of fellows. There is no doubt he kept to himself, and often did….until one early morning in spring.
The early morning mists still lingered, clinging to grass and tree as Dirk made his way from Combe through to Bree, stopping only shortly to acquire some freshly baked bread. Leaving the walls he gazed upon the North-Western Bree fields, wandering upward on the Greenway toward the grouping of lakes named Everclear. The fog was low on the water, spiralling through the lengthy reeds. Little could be seen across the landscape, except from the corner of his eye there stood a lone figure. The figure was shrouded in shadow; the mists embraced it, casting an eerie light. Dirk lowered himself onto the dewy ground, softly, his gaze lingering on the form as it moved about the waters edge.
In the silence of the morning, Dirk could hear a gentle song wavering through the mist. Fair in voice but some distance away. He sat motionless, his food left untouched, as he watched this figure and listened to the song she was weaving. The figure edged ever closer and came into view. Her hair was the colour of wheat and bound loosely at her neck, her skin, fair, save for the blush in her cheeks. She carried a woven basket against her hip, though little else could be seen from the thick mists. Dirk remained silent, despite her nearness, held in place by the song and the sight of her.
Fog still swirled about the waters edge, obscuring him as he sat. She loomed ever closer, each step nearing him….until….he looked on…wide-eyed. She was close enough to touch, yet he remained there, unable to move or speak. At that moment he felt the thickness of her shoe against his leg, and he suddenly moved. He watched as the fair lass flailed through the air….her basket now tumbling to the ground, its contents strewn across the grass. He reached his arms out to grasp her, but nay! It was too late. He watched on with barely any control, the air silent at the end of her song, save for at the last moment….a splash, to be heard as the lass hit the water.
“What are ye doing!? Ye fool!” Ada yelled,
Suddenly things began to run at their normal pace, time resumed its normal course, and the bewitchment of song, shattered. He looked on bewildered, attempting to grasp her hands and help her up from the waters flow. Now brought to her feet, he looked at her. Her hair hung wet, her face flustered and dripping. They stood at length looking at each other, no words in exchange, their cheeks burning red. Suddenly, and much to Dirks dismay, he let slip a wide grin. Their gaze never parted from each other, as they both stood…one dripping wet, until they both slipped into a heavy laughter. A laughter, that as such, did not end for near eleven winters.
