btW Chapter 25 part 3

It was twice that many days before they reached the woods of the elves. As the Circle Mountains curved away toward the horizon, the forests stretched out to welcome them and in the forests they found signs of human habitation. These they skirted as carefully as they could. The fewer who knew of their whereabouts, the fewer could betray them either willfully or by a chance word. Each village or lone house that they circumvented took them that much further out of their way. Rain slowed them more as it turned the land to mud.

For a while, it seemed that time held still for them. Sometimes they rode together, Onaline's arms circling Kramer's waist like a silken belt, the elven cloak draped over them both. Other times they rode side by side. One day was the same as the one before save that at times rain fell and other times the sky was overcast and drizzling. Kramer's knowledge of the general layout of the land, Onaline's understanding of how to interact with the land and the plants and animals within it complimented each other to help them wind their way through the mud, around and through small swamps and a vast marshland until they finally reached a woodland that both of them found familiar.

In the Middling Forest they made their last camp.

"Tomorrow, I know, we must part," Kramer said, holding her hand as they sat by the fire. Suddenly her lips were on his and they were in each other's arms, holding each other tightly as if to keep the world from tearing them apart, wanting to be close. He kissed her again and again, her soft lips welcoming him, her lithe body pressing against his chest with every breath, and still they were not close enough. Her fingers pulled open her soft leather coat and he pulled off his jerkin and weapon belts and held her close, stroking her eagerly with his hands as their mutual desire awoke from its long-held slumber.

A faint noise, a bright presence, brought Onaline's kiss to an end, and she sighed.

"We have an audience," she said, her arms still wrapped around Kramer. She sang out, "Show yourselves, little elves. There's none here that you need fear."

A figure appeared, its softly booted feet as large as a pixie. "Am I too soon or too late, Onaline?" asked a voice above them. "With the clumsy ways of humans, it's hard to tell."

Abruptly they pulled apart and looked up, both their faces flushing , at the tall woodland elf that stood watching them from beside a great tree. Onaline didn't recognize him and his eyes revealed little of the merriment in his voice. The elves of the Golden Vale were ever wont to smile and play, and merriment was in the eyes of all save Teacher. This one must be of the Woods.

"If you have more interest in your love making than in food, I will leave you to it, but the Lady Leceya insisted I offer, to let you know that you were protected and watched, as are all things in these woods."

With another sigh and a blush, Onaline fastened her coat and waved for the elf to join them by the fire.

"We expected two to come, but with no ill will toward the human, he is not the companion we expected."

"Kramer has been a good friend to me and to Toamm."

"We will see that he is allowed safe passage out of the woods. I see that Leceya Malada was correct. She believes that you have much to tell her and would welcome speech with you if you will come, when you are ready to part ways with the human."

"I expect that the little ones have already told her much."

"Perhaps. I am Macon son of Magon." From behind the tree, he brought out a large basket of food and flasks of elvish meade, and Onaline wondered how long he had been watching them. She knew form her time in the Vale that the elves were free and open with their affections but rarely as passionate as she and Kramer had been minutes before. She couldn't guess whether the forest elves, content to watch trees grow as they dwelled in quiet contemplation, would find human energy disturbing or a fascinating break from their routine. That Leceya had thought to warn them they were being watched was answer enough.

The three of them ate in silence, then Macon took the basket and left one of the flasks with Kramer and Onaline and left them alone for awhile, though they didn't expect him to go far.

Onaline told Kramer, "Tonight I will go to speak to Leceya Malada. Tomorrow I will go back to being what I am, where I belong. The Wall is there for good reason. Each of us belongs to our own side. Just as thou belongest here, I belong to Mattias, where I should have stayed,"

"You were born here," Kramer reminded her. "If you belong anywhere, it is here."

She was not convinced, but Kramer was. He did belong on this side. In time, he hoped, she would realize that she belonged on this side, too.

She picked up her pack and the elvish weapons including Toamm's bow and sword, gave him a last lingering kiss, and lead Sheba into the night, knowing Macon would be watching and waiting.


"Will you ride behind me?" she offered, knowing the elves of the wood kept few horses.

"Will Sheba take the weight?"

Not only her name, but her steed's, Onaline thought to herself. Yes, the little ones had been sharing plenty of news with the elves. Yet Macon hadn't known about Kramer.

"She has taken greater weight than yours, " Onaline assured him, her throat tightening at the memory of Gliffonel riding behind her.

The forest changed from the brighter light and paler tones of the the young trees at the edge of the forest to the ever deepening shade and dark greens of the trees as ageless as the elves themselves. It was quiet here, with a soft blanket of needles to muffle Sheba's hoof beats, and few animals save the birds, whose songs drifted down from high overhead.

Soon the sound of song, voices and instruments raised in soft harmony greeted them and they were granted glimpses of restful elves watching from high in the trees or leaning back and softly joining the song for their own amusement. A few went so far as to call greetings in the elven tongue and Onaline replied in kind though she could not echo their joy.

At the base of a small rise, two elves in deep green tunics greeted them with bows and guided Sheba away. On the top of the rise, seated cross legged on a blanket woven with an intricate pattern of leaves, vines, and gold traceries, was Leceya Malada, sister of Medwen, wisest of the elves of the wood. She smiled up at Onaline with a radiant smile. Yellow hair, smooth skin, and a soft gown of light brown made her look young and beautiful, but the hazel eyes were deep as mountains. Macon waved a casual salute but Onaline bowed deeply before her.

"Macon?" Leceya asked, her voice low and rich, yet clearly insisting on an explanation for his lingering presence.

"She had a human companion, a friend."

She studied Macon's expression, at first curious, then amused. "You may tell those watching him to let him go where he will." She glanced at Onaline, then turned back to Macon, "Except here."

Only when he had gone did she turn back to Onaline with a gentle smile. She lifted Onaline's chin to gaze into her face. "Please sit, child. You can only be Onaline, the half-elven visitor to the Vale. I am Leceya. You may call me Leceya the fool for not having arranged to greet you personally, before you went away with Toamm. It would have spared me much pixie prodding and answered many unanswered questions, if I had met you earlier. Now tell me all that has happened. I can see sorrow in your thoughts but joy in your memory. What has brought such discord?"

So Onaline described her journey with Toamm, their meeting with Lord Kramer and his soldiers, then with Captain Gliffonel. She told Leceya briefly of their adventures on the way to Citadel, city of Spires in Hadon, and of the human king who would not listen While she spoke, more elves gathered to listen, hovering at a distance so as not to intrude, and studying the half-elf who remained to them as mysterious as ancient legend to the humans.

Onaline told them about the great battle in the swamp and out of it, where Gliffonel had been lost to the dark evil growing in Davinia, their passage underground, and finally of the battle in the caves that had taken Toamm. Then, several of the silent listeners turned away, displaying no sorrow but whispering to the wind and contemplating that one of their own might find comfort in a prison cell shared with a dwarf.

Onaline concluded to Leceya alone, "I can only hope that they are dead, their pain ended, for only the greatest of armies could rescue them from their torments now."

Leceya shook her head at the youthful emotions. Time might heal many troubles, but humans seldom lived long enough to understand the full meaning of hope. "What of your quest?"

"My quest was foolishness. I never should have returned to this land, though it is the land of my birth. Too many have died. Too many are willing to take their places! I will leave Sheba with you for she was only a load from the elves of the Vale, but I must return to Mattias."

She might have gone right then, for she was certain anything else Leceya might say would be an effort to dissuade her. A lifetime of training in manners and consideration for the hurt she might bring others held her in place.

"I make one request only." Leceya told the girl. "Do not again say or think ‘I never should have'. We do what we do and cannot undo it. Look forward instead. If mistakes have been made, and I think none have been, certainly not by you, then look forward to how they can be corrected. Go in peace, Onaline, but be cautious. Both elven magic and evil powers will continue on the other side, but it may take new forms."

Then Onaline left the land she could no longer think of as Beyond and, again traveling on foot, headed to the land she had once called home.

- End Book 1-

The story in the quilt

Whether as a way to pass the time as I do the most tedious bits of quilting, or as a way to help me decide on all the elements as I go (I'm not one for doing an overall, repeating pattern and often do scrappy, which is to say mix-and-match colors and patterns rather than the same fabrics throughout for each part of a pattern), I often have a meaning, a message, or just my own idea of a "story" in almost every quilt I've done, even if most of the time the message is not one I expect anyone to even know or guess.

For Quilts of Valor, the basic message is usually obvious and well known - I appreciate the soldiers wounded for their country enough to make a quilt for them and show that they are a hero by using the colors of the flag or some variation thereon (it might be pastels or country colors (indigo, rose, and cream) rather than the heraldic bright red, white, and blue). Still, there might be other less obvious elements as well, less than symetric stars to represented the wounded hero, pieces large and small as representative of family members, symbols of the military forces or a particular military force. And sometimes I'll use fabric with words expressive of the soldier's assumed qualities, like courage and patriotism, or messages of my wishes for them, such a hope, joy, peace, and comfort. If I can't find a fabric that does the trick, I might use the words or associated symbols as part of the quilting pattern, never expecting them to be noticed but wanting them to be there none-the-less.

Currently I'm working on a wedding quilt and it will be filled with messages and story's, too, though I expect virtually none but the most obvious symbols of hearts and rings for love and commitment to be noticed. The colors are generally darker than I might otherwise have chosen but they have picked a fall wedding and fall colors tend toward the darker and I went with that. It includes new and older fabrics (from the store and the stash, respectively). I don't know the couple well (she is family but not often seen in her youth) so the story isn't about them but about marriage life: bright colors and patterns for pleasant times and parties, and a few dark squares, even black because marriage and life is never without its sorrows. There will be a few patches from baby quilts as representative of the wish for fertility and a next generation. The inner section includes a wide rings of simple (but colorful squares), then a border of cream, then a new pattern of bigger blocks of triangles, at least according to the current plan, the whole representing the changes through which relationships pass, the challenges and pleasures, and so on, with many messages and elements of the story yet to be decided. I may add a pocket in the center or on each side for love notes, a house, figures in quilting or embroidery though probably not pieced unless I find myself with an unexpected lot of extra time--I've gotten early start but know my time disappears fast!

Many quilts convey other messages through block names (isolated stars, yellow flower blocks, and mixes of beach blue, sand yellow, and streams of black might together be representative of Texas--lone star state, yellow roses, beaches and desserts and crude oil--for example). the closest I've come to that sort was in the quilting, when I drew pictures on the back of a blue crazy quilt that were representative of my life to that point - place I'd been, holidays, family members, hobbies, each topic gathered in a section of the quilt. These days, ti might be expected to be in color and more visible, perhaps embroidered, but at the time white was the favored color of quilting thread so they are all white on light blue and take a little study. With the colorful side up they are invisible, but the story is still there for the finding on some chilly evening fit for remmenising.

Most. though are more subtle, with colors that might mean something to the maker but no one else, a scrap from a past project that recalls memories of that project and why it was made, or left undone, a complex pattern that reminded the maker of something from their shared past with the recipient, a pinwheel to represent a company logo, a dancer to remind of shared adventures or classes or dates, a flower to represent spring or summer, joy or romance, gardening or art. Only the maker might ever know.

Nest time you plan a craft project, or receive one, take a closer look at the design and the making. What message has the maker offered with each stitch?

Price of healthy eating

Play with the math. It's easy to say that some of the healthiest foods re expensive - I am always shocked at how expensive a tiny bit of berries can be, even in season, and the best green vegetables cost more than meat, sometimes, so it becomes easy to say that they are out of the budget. However, sweets and chips typically cost even more per serving unless they are made at home. And a dinner out - way more! So if you are trying to persuade yourself that you should do something, and keep coming against the cost, look for something that can be given up, or that you should be giving up and do the math there. If that's not enough, look up the price of paying for medicine and surgery. With even basic off-the-shelf pain relievers going up, the price of healthy eating starts to look easier to digest.

Some observations on quilting

I haven't so much studied the history of quilting as been exposed to it by my efforts to find ideas for quilts to make. Also, some of my quilt group are quite active in shows and all (I'm just a diletante), so I've become aware of the continuing changes in the art and craft of quilting. Mostly I've noticed that through it's history, it's had two very distinct pieces which have developed independently as well as together and have come into conflict as their paths have become more intertwined.

Quilting came long before piecing (patch-working multiple fabrics together), a way of creating padding for under armor in the middle ages, elaborate and decorative stitching on white or other solid-colored fabric.

Patchwork blankets and such seem to have come along later and from a much different direction, literally patching on existing blankets, or simple blocks tied to other layers with stitching only around the edges. Somewhere in the 19th century, the two came together into stitched, colorful quilts in any number of patterns and colors, or crazy unpatterned mixes blended together with underlying color themes or embroidery.

The quilting part of the mixed quilts, though, still remained a thing of it's own, sometimes playing a dominant role in simple pieced quilts, sometimes a minor role, doing barely more than hold top and bottom and batting together. In most cases it seems, the top was pieces and the whole quilted by the same person, sometimes with the very same stitches (certain kinds of applique), but often separate, with no one ever perfectly satisfied on how much the piecing and quilting should be related, whether the quilting can be an overall pattern independent of the colors and shapes of the top, whether the stitching should follow the piecing exactly or in echo, or to what degree a bit of both might apply as space filler, to decorate the back, or as a different art sharing the space.

It's not always a craft for one, however, and some quilters prefer one part and some the other and some think the two should be inter-related in a way hardly possible without a single vision by a single artist. Early and late and places in between, the roles have been separated. Quilting bees, for example, were almost always about one person's top being put together by a group of quilters. These days, with machine quilting available with large and very expensive machines, many top-makers have someone else do the quilting. With it again comes the potential for conflict, as the top maker and the quilter have different visions of the end product. And these days, quilting threads come in a lot more colors, and multiple colors. There is no set tradition of blending with the colors of the fabric, back or front, and a often as not a contrasting color might be chosen to make the quilting stitches and their patterns more visible. With machine quilting, there's also more ease involved in using lots more quilting than is needed to put the top, batting, and backing together than when quilts are hand quilted.

And at the same time, sewing techniques possible only with a machine allow much more complex piecing, too. Can both the piecing and the quilting be strong and complex without causing chaos? Should the quilting enhance the piecing, or can the piecing, however difficult and complex and artfully created be little more than a colorful canvas for the complex and artfully contrasting colors of an elaborate quilting design? If the quilter wants to do elaborate patterns, couldn't they jut go back to the beginning and use a single-color fabric? What about the two crafts draws them ever back to each other like the proverbial opposites?