[SRP] The Art of Hospitality (Flannghaile + Muirne)

[elfstar89]

Spring was beginning to turn toward summer. Some trees had finished their flowering, others were still in flower. Most of the deciduous trees had fully leafed out, and the nearby meadows were alive with wildflowers. It was the time of the year the Usdia mare had noticed that there seemed to be more visitors passing through the mountains. What little they'd told Flann about their journeys, it involved an annual festival someplace with a lot of Flutters apparently called Ceannaiche Stad Village. The pass that Flann and her mate had settled in was apparently one of the possible passes to the village for those coming up from the lowlands. And it wasn't the only festival that drew some lowlanders to that valley.

Flann was normally the sort to stay where she was, mind her valley, and mind for lost travelers in need of aid. If a neighboring valley was going to have regular festivals that drew travelers unfamiliar to the area, Flann had to admit that she probably needed to check out one of the festivals, see what it was about, so she could be of more help to future travelers.

Thus it was, on this sunny late spring afternoon that the Usdia mare found herself trotting comfortably along the clearly well-trodden path toward a wooded area studded in what appeared to be cozy homes for very small creatures, and clearly decorated for a festival. She couldn't help blinking her dark eyes in surprise at this tiny hidden village. Around the woods were cultivated orchards and a single, large, freestanding structure, presumably intended for the occasional visitors and residents who were incapable of shrinking to the size of a large rodent.

A clatter beneath her hooves caused her to pause. Looking down, she realized the path had become cobblestone, patterned with tiny, smooth, beautiful pebbles. Flann blinked. This village was definitely well established, and it begged the question as to how it had taken Flann so long to come here. Looking around, in a clearing near the orchards, booths were being set up for business. Feeling uncertain, Flann wandered over, stopping at a booth bearing jars of preserves and condiments. There was a faint floral and fruity aroma to the booth, and Flann found herself inspecting the wares with great curiosity. Apple, pear, and cherry, mostly, with a few plum, peach, apricot, orange, lemon, and lime, the latter three as marmalades. Flann found herself wishing she had anything she could afford to trade the booth owner, who was just returning with more stock, green and gold Flutter wings occasionally fluttering in the soft breeze.


Muirne was having a busy start to the morning. The Crossroads Market was starting this morning, and she was still carrying stock from home to her booth. Once the Hippo'flutter'nei mare had finished stocking the booth, she could finish by selecting a few jars to be used as samples to entice creatures of all sorts to partake of her wares. Hopefully there would be many this year. It had been a long winter, and some of the passes were only just now finishing melting their way free for travel. Which meant she might have to rely more heavily on the bed and breakfast during the festival, currently occupied by a large party of squirrels only too happy to pay extra for any preserves Muirne had been willing to sell them. It was a small mercy, but she was still hoping to turn a decent profit.

Honestly, what Muirne was really looking forward to were the parties and dances in the evening. There was no profit to be made in the evenings, but a life of only making money was a dull life, even if it involved doing something you loved. No, the parties and the dances were a chance for Muirne to ply a more avocational craft: puirt-a-beul, acapella music intended to accompany dances. Muirne was an enthusiastic practitioner of the art, and she loved dancing, even as she sang for the dancers Even when she wasn't singing or dancing, the stories told by travelers during the festivals were also a welcome feature of the seasonal festivals that inflated the village's population three times a year. Preserves, stories from travelers, and good music: the stuff of life for Muirne.

As she returned to the booth with another crate of jars, wings fluttering in the breeze, bell about her ear softly jingling, she caught sight of someone hanging about her booth. Approaching, Muirne realized she didn't recognize the dark red little Usdia, whose markings reminded her of insects or dying autumn leaves. She smiled, golden eyes lighting up hopefully. A customer? Or a traveler, at any rate.

"Welcome to Ceannaiche Stad! Is this your first time at the Crossroads Market?" she asked merrily.  

[elfstar89]

Flann's dark eyes shifted to the sunny, smiling ones of the taller mare. "I thank ye for the greetin', lassie," she replied warmly. "This is my first time up here in the village at all. I've only ever heard o' this village frae other travelers," she explained in her native brogue. Eyeballing the jars with fascination, she continued, "I see ye make preserves. Do ye use the crops o' the orchard here, or do ye trade for the fruits?" Flann didn't have a way to trade for anything, much less a method of carrying any preserves home to her lifemate, but even a free sample would get her thinking about coming up here more regularly, particularly if she got that rest stop set up in the caves near her own, and found anything she could use in trade in the future. "I'm afraid I brought naethin' tae trade today, as I wasnae sure what tae expect today, and I havenae a way tae carry anythin' back hame today," she admitted to the Flutter apologetically.

"Though, if ye could use some help, I'd happily trade some help for anythin' ye've a mind tae share wi' me." Like knowledge, stories, or, possibly, preserves. This friendly villager might have a lot to share with the Usdia in exchange for otherwise free labor.

Muirne twitched her soft, fluffy ears at the thick brogue on the Usdia. She was quite intelligible, it just took a moment for Muirne to adjust to the unfamiliar accent. The Usdia didn't have anything to trade, aside from her labor, but seemed willing to work for an unspecified fee that Muirne could dictate. That was a risky proposition. But at least the Usdia seemed sincere and curious. Muirne couldn't help but like that about the smaller mare. And she wouldn't mind an extra body around to help carry things and keep her company. Unlike many of the villagers, Muirne had no companion, no mate, and no little sprites of her own. As sociable as she was, her business was no place for anyone unwilling or unable to help, leaving Muirne on her own.

"I think I'll take you up on that offer. Name's Muirne, and my business is Preas na Dearc. Pickles, jams, jellies, fruit butters, syrups, and marmalades, I make and sell all sorts of preserves off both fruits in the orchard, and whatever folk are willing to trade in bulk. What's your name?" she asked solicitously, gesturing for the Usdia to join her behind the booth. "Would information do for payment? If you'd rather some preserves, I can work on arranging for a satchel for you later today, though it will likely take some time," she added apologetically.  

[elfstar89]

"Flannghaile. I live wi' my mate in the pass south o' here; he keeps the valley safe, I rescue lost travelers. I've been considerin' turnin' the caves near our ain intae a travelers' rest stop, considerin' the heavier travel around the time this village has festivals," Flann replied, making her way behind the booth. "Information is a reasonable trade, and if some preserves are too much work, I wouldnae put ye tae any trouble," she added.

Noticing densely woven loops underneath the caps of each jar, Flann delicately lifted each jar in her teeth using the loop, placing them on the wooden boards of the booth, trying to spot markers of which fruit was which, as Muirne instructed her as to which jar should be sorted where. Meanwhile, Muirne began to explain things.

"This is a village related to the Aos Si Kingdom that exists around us. If you haven't heard of them, that's not surprising, they're not really big on outsiders. Ceannaiche Stad was founded by those who were friendly toward outsiders. We have three big festivals a year, one in late spring or early summer, that being the Crossroad Clearing Market and Journey Festival, another one in mid autumn, Feast Week, and another one at the winter solstice, Winter Season. Crossroad Clearing Market and Journey Festival probably brings us the largest crowd of outsiders, especially during the last of the three weeks of the market, the Journey Festival. Everyone dresses up like the Traveler, and there are contests for the best costume--those are syrups, those sit on the stump behind the counter, so no little sprites get into the syrups," Muirne interjected as Flann began lifting the first jar of cherry syrup toward the front counter.

As the morning continued, and customers started roving through the market, Flann started to run out of questions about the festivals. It was around this point that a parade began to pass through the market, mice and Flutters decked out in finery dancing and playing instruments as they proceeded. Muirne couldn't help but start to sing under her breath.  

[elfstar89]

Flann cocked her head. It had been a deeply informative morning so far. Winter Season probably saw easily the fewest travelers, but it also sounded like something Flann would want to take any foals she and Al had to go see it. And they did want foals of their own. Tiny glowing pebbles decorating the village, turning it into a veritable fairy land--any small foal would surely be fascinated by such a sight! Maybe in a couple weeks, Flann would persuade Al to come with her for the Journey Festival at the end of the Crossroad Clearing Market.

As these thoughts percolated in her mind, a parade began to merrily make its way past the booth, and Muirne began to sing.

The Usdia blinked. The song sounded vaguely familiar, something she'd heard when she was very young. Nobody had been able to tell her anything about it, and it seemed as though nobody else knew about it. "What are ye singin', Muirne?" she asked curiously, wanting to finally know more about this music.

Muirne blinked, caught off-guard by the question. "Oh, that? It was puirt-a-beul, mouth music. I learned to sing it as a filly. It can be used in lieu of music for dancing," she explained. She did not expect the Usdia's dark eyes to enlarge thoughtfully. Was there a spark of recognition there? "I take it you've heard it before?"

"Not since I was a wee filly! I couldnae find anyone who kenned anythin' aboot it, barely anyone who'd heard it at all!" Flann replied excitedly. "I'll tak' anythin' ye can teach me aboot the puirt-a-beul, even a song or twa!"

Muirne grinned. A kindred spirit, and one who pronounced the term correctly on the first go. "I can teach you a song or two. Let's start with an easy one...."

By the end of the afternoon, when they parted ways, both mares had a friend in the other, Muirne had some new stories about the southern pass, Flann had a macrame bag of carefully cushioned preserves, a better understanding of her northern neighbors, and a song in a tradition she had never been able to learn as a filly. For both mares, it was the start of something new and positive.