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From the Journal of Estavan of Westmarch
Sometimes fear can be a little thing as simple as the sound of a gentle rapping on a door.
Twenty years ago my parents traveled from the lands east of Duncraig to settle here in Westchester. It was only a year or so later that Sagira, traveled and settled not far from my parent's lodging. My parents had little more than a hut hobbled together from trees that my father felled on the forest's edge. Like many families we didn't have much, but as a young child barely aware of the greater world I didn't really notice the humility of the place.
What I did notice however was Sagira. Upon her arrival my parents offered her hospitality for a time, and aided her in the building of her own home. She had forsworn wood however, and insisted on stones gathered from an abandoned watchtower several miles to the east. When older I learned the tower had been used as a cheater's quarry for several stone masons in West Chester, but early on I remember how Sagira with the aid of a few others would haul stones into a cart and travel several miles to where she would build her house.
The stones were heavy, yet I recall on more than one occasion the inspiring woman lifting with no small effort an entire stone by herself which would have normally required two adult males to safely lift. Much of the walls of her house were built by her hands alone. These memories were my first of her, and they solidified in my mind an impression of determination which rarely I've seen in others.
* * *
My father succumbed to great illness and my mother sent me to live with Sagira until the fever had passed. Those were terrible days in my childhood when I was forced to watch my mother fall prey to the same illness, and neither survived. Our hut was burned to prevent spread of the contagion. From then on Sagira took me as her responsibility.
I lived with Sagira for many years, and in all that time I never truly comprehended the reasons for her decisions to build her home from stone. The roof was still wood, but far heavier timbers than most would use on such a small house. There was a hearth with a fireplace, which itself included an iron gate that the blacksmith had forged at Sagira's request. The windows were not greased lambskin or even normal glass. She'd collected the discarded stumps of glass-blowers wares to form the panes of her windows. The glass was warped and several inches thick making them far too difficult to see through, but none-the-less permitted the light of day to shine through.
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Part 2 can be read here:
Edited by Lõri on 3/12/2012 3:48 PM PDT
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