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[Mia Stormcrow]

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It was near dusk when Mia arrived at her fathers homestead outside Skara Brae, it had been a long dusty ride. Mia dismounted and lead Wind Racer, her horse, over to the trough for a well deserved drink. Her father having heard unexpected hoof beats exited the barn, pitch fork in hand, seeing Mia, he slowly stopped, and said “ I di’na think you’d be here until tomorrows eve lass.” A sad smile crossed Mia’s face as she removed Wind Racers saddle, “I’ve duties that I must see to on the marrow that may keep me from being here Da, so I must do the ritual this eve.” Her father scowled at the news and grumbled a bit, “Should be tomorrow Lass.” Mia shook her head slowly as she lead Wind Racer into the barn, “ What’s one day to a tree?”

After settling her horse in the barn, Mia grabbed her pack and a small covered basket and headed to the farm house. As she entered the old man looked up from his chair, “There’s some stew on the fire, if’n your hungry.” Mia placed the small basket on the table, “ No thanks Da, I ate earlier and there’s still much to do”, she said, as she headed to the back room. Once the door was shut, Mia quickly unpacked several items from her backpack, and changed out of her armor into a simple brown dress, apron and sandals. As Mia stepped back into the main room of the house, her father let out a soft whistle, “ You’re the image of your mother dressed that way”, a blush rose to Mia’s cheeks. Trying hard to keep her voice from cracking, Mia looked at her father and said, “If your done trying to embarrass me, go fetch me a bucket of ale from the keg in the cellar.” Putting her emotions aside, for later reflection, Mia busied herself laying out various things she would need, lumps of dark brown sugar, cloves, cardamom seed, and apples from her fathers orchard. After she had laid out the items, Mia took a small bundle of seasoned apple wood from the kindling box next to the hearth and placed the wood on the fire. By the time the old man had returned from the cellar with the bucket of ale, Mia had finished chopping the last of the apples, carefully placing the seeds to one side. Taking a large iron pot, Mia filled it almost to the brim with ale, adding the cloves, sugar, cardamom, and apples, before placing it over the fire to boil. Seeing that there was some ale left in the bucket, Mia took down a mug from the mantle, filled it from the bucket, and placed the mug before her father, before sitting down to wait.

It was not long before the pot of Wassail began to boil and the small house was filled with the aroma of apples, cloves, and ale. Mia rose and went to the back room , returning with a garland of dried apple blossoms she had woven the previous spring and had been saving for this night. Mia carefully arranged her hair and placed the garland upon her head. Satisfied with the results, Mia looked to her father, “it is time Da”, taking a towel she removed the steaming pot of Wassail from the fire, stood and headed to the door. The evening air was cool and moist and a few clouds drifted across the starry moonlit winter sky. Mia, carrying the steaming pot of Wassail, walked slowly up the trail towards the apple orchard, her father following some distance behind.

When her father had purchased the orchard adjoining his farm a few years back, it was in terrible shape. The trees had not been tended in many years and the trees were choked with undergrowth and many suffered with disease and rot. It had taken years of careful tending, patience, and hard work to make the trees healthy again. During those years the harvests had been small, but not a single thing was wasted, in the Spring, the branches that had fallen during the Winter were gathered and stacked to be used to smoke meat, in Autumn the meager harvest had been collected to make jams, jellies, and cider, in the early Winter even the fallen leaves had been gathered, for composting, which was turned back into the soil in the Springtime. This Spring, all the years of loving care had been rewarded and in early April the trees were so covered with blossoms, from a distance they appeared to be covered in snow.

When Mia arrived at the orchard, she slowly approached the largest tree, and holding forth the now cool bowl of Wassail. She stood in silence for some time, listening to the breeze blow through the winter bare branches, then she begin to slowly circle the tree as she carefully poured the Wassail upon the roots of the great tree. “We come to honor the blessings of your bounty, and return to you what is your due”, Mia chanted. Moving outward from the trunk of the tree, Mia held the Wassail over her head, and slowly maneuvered the bowl so the branches of the tree dipped into the liquid. When she had finished, Mia bowed to the great apple tree and backed away, leaving it to return to its winter slumber.

After returning to the house with her father, they sat in silence for some time, each sipping a small glass of the remaining Wassail. Mia looked to the old man and smiled, “I must be going, but I’ll return in a few weeks for a visit……”