Breakfast and Beginnings
Near a bend in a river there was a town. It wasn’t particularly large and the houses were arranged in three concentric, wooded rings. The sun had risen above the tall grass and was pouring through the streets and into windows. One of the houses, with a grey stone roof and walls covered in moss and ivy was alive with bustling activity.
Standing outside the house one could smell that the oven was baking something sweet, and that meant that it was the start of a new week. The kitchen was filled with the smell of flour, baking, and the tell-tale scent of pine. Brass pots glinted in the sunlight and water dripped from drying plates into the basin below, kicking up small drops to arc up and crash back down into the washing water.
The herbs that grew on the windowsill threw shadows across the countertop and onto the table. A pot and matching cup of tea sat in front on a plate, laden with crumbs. The soft glow of the oven warmed the back of the now unoccupied chair.
From the pantry came a small rustle as the owner of the house emerged. While small in stature he filled the room well as his whiskers twitched in sync with his nose, enjoying the scent of a peach pie as it wafted through the house. The wood mouse was proud of what he baked.
His little paws dropped a few lemons on the table and he produced a wooden chopping board and his sharpest knife. The obsidian had been chipped by Albert, the best craftsmouse he knew. Working quickly the mouse cut the lemon into thin, almost transparent slices and laid them out on the board. Next, he brought out a whisk that he had found. Some thought it was comically large but it suited his needs.
With a bit of work, he whipped some cream to soft peaks and put it in his cold room, making a note that he needed to grab another block of ice from Maurice next door. As the pie neared completion, he wiped his paws off on his apron and threw open the window with the wide windowsill. From there he grabbed a large flat cork round and prepared a place for the pie to cool. He had been lucky that Phillip had found the cork bobbing in the river - they had each gotten a thing round slice from it for home projects.
As he slipped on oven mitts and brought the pie to the windowsill, he saw the curious, mousey eyes of his neighbours and some of their friends. They knew exactly what he was making. Now it just needed to be garnished. A crown of whipped cream, a ring of lemon slices. And finally, a thin dusting of powdered sugar would let the slices he handed out earn their name Sunny Delights.
Theodore busied himself with clearing away his breakfast dishes before hanging his apron on a hook next to the door and pulling on a dark green vest and brown jacket. As he bustled into the hallway, he passed shelves that sagged beneath the memorabilia and trinkets he had bought or collected. He grabbed a wicker basket and upon opening the front door was met with the green garden and a white fence toward the path.
A few years ago, he had had the good idea to have a small table made and two benches to match. He placed the basket on the bench and opened it, producing first a heavy table cloth that he spread across the table. Next followed a cake stand and finally a few plates and forks to go along with them. A series of wooden cups followed; he had gotten some fresh black berry juice that he would serve to his visitors today.
Over the next few minutes Theodore arranged a variety of food on the table and set places for eight mice. He knew that they would bring hearty appetites and would make sure to feed them well. Ishild had brought some freshly baked bread that morning and he had kept it warm next to his fireplace. As ten minutes approached Theodore made his way to the gate and opened it. By the time he returned from the kitchen he knew his neighbours and friends would be eagerly awaiting the main attraction.
When Theodore returned the benches and one of the chairs were already filled. He placed the cake on the cake stand and produced two small glass jars from his pockets. It was always best, he believed, to serve fresh bread with jam.
“My friends,” he started as he lifted his cup for a toast, “I hope that this week will be another prosperous one.” The other mice echoed his toast and took a sip. Putting the cup down again Theodore cut the cake into eight even slices, each with a slice of lemon and a whirl of cream.
Sunlight glimmered in the lemon, casting a pattern onto the cake below. He served the pieces first to Maurice, he brought in new ice every week, but something was bothering him. Linta seemed cheerful as ever, her apron was decorated with patterns of small mushrooms around her pockets, and the basket would be filled with mushrooms by the end of the day.
Julian began devouring the cake as it settled on the table, a mouse of prestigious appetite he would be busy fixing roofs and leaks around the village. He was an adept carpenter and had helped make Theodore’s dining table. Peredur carefully divided his slice in half and wrapped one up in a cloth; he would take it up to his watch for a midday snack.
Ishild smiled at the Sunny Delight as she took it from his paws. Her paws had small flecks of flour on them; she had been awake since before sun up making bread for the day. Phillip and Albert were last and the two brothers thanked him with wide smiles before digging in.
“What has your whiskers twitching Maurice?” Maurice looked up, and brushed a stray tuft of white fur to the back.
“It’s the ice. I was waiting at the dock this morning, but nobody came. The raft must have run into trouble up river.” Theodore nodded his head and brought a cake laden fork to his mouth. The lemon drooped slightly over the edge and the brown crust had crumbled cleanly, except for a few stray crumbs that tumbled onto the plate below.
“I can go take a look for you.” It was his job after all. Maurice’s eyes lit up as he let out a small squeak.
“That would be very kind of you, but it might be a few days journey.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Theodore smiled, “Remember the journey I took for Ishild? Three days to find that bread tin. It was covered by leaves and near giant tracks.”
“That tin has worked wonders for me,” Ishild interrupted, “I’m still using it in the big oven for feasts and market days.” Her breads were very good. Most of the mice made their own on occasion but none would contend with her skill.
“I suppose I might miss market day if I go travelling,” Theodore said out loud, “But you’d save me some of your salted lye bread?” He would hate to miss out on her excellent bread.
“Of course, I was planning on making a big batch for the weekend. I heard there might be some travellers passing by then and would want to give them some good food.”
“There is a rumour about. It might be Rosalia,” The siblings cut into the conversation.
“Wasn’t she due here two weeks ago?” Albert asked.
“Unless she has a lot of goods to trade, that’d slow her down in every town she visited.”
“She might even bring some giant-made.” That last line sent a hum of excitement through the mice. While they made good things here the giants could make them faster and sometimes sturdier.
Speculation and conversation continued for a while as everyone ate. As the Sunny Delights were finished, they moved on to the bread, cutting pieces off and enjoying them with fresh jams. It took about an hour before Peredur pushed his chair back.
“Thank you for a wonderful meal. I need to get to my post to watch the approaches; and I’ll watch out for you Theo.”
The others watched Peredur go, and finished up their meal. Linta headed off next with a smile and a spring in her step, she whistled tunelessly as she headed towards the forest Ishild looked after her.
“I’m looking forward to market day. She told me that a new batch of mushrooms has nearly matured. Should I save you some? Theodore looked at Ishild and smiled.
“That would be wonderful of you,” they placed their dishes next to the sink, “and thank you for coming. I’m not sure what I’ll make next week; it’ll depend on my garden.”
“I’ll ask Maurice to come and water your plants, and Linta will gladly help picking what is ripe.” They smiled at each other; he enjoyed having good friends and neighbours.
“Thank you,” Theodore walked her to the door and together they collected the others and walked to the gate. Hugging they said their goodbyes and made promises to meet again when Theodore returned.
Now it was time to prepare for the journey ahead. He grabbed an old leather bag, with a sturdy base and sides. From his wardrobe he took a few changes of clothes and an extra pair of sturdy boots. Raiding the pantry he packed bread, fruit, and clean water. On top of that he grabbed his sleeping bag and strapped it to the bottom. A coil of rope and some pitons were hung on the sides. He also took a faded duster and floppy hat from the cloak stand. He walked into his living room and put out the fire he had had burning that still kept some bread rolls warm. Those he stuffed into his pockets. Above the fireplace in a black leather tube hung his sword. Long and thin with a leather loop through the hole beneath the cross-guard, it had served him well on previous expeditions when he needed to cut copes in a hurry.
Grabbing a gnarled walking stick from the umbrella stand he closed the door behind him and made his way down the path, locking the gate and heading toward the river. He would need to see both banks of the river to be able to spot the raft. He wound his way along the worn paths of the village, the stacked stone walls keeping the dust of the road from the well-tended, productive gardens of the town.
As he passed through the outer ring of the town he looked up at the tallest tulip. The yellow petals stood out starkly against the sky and from within he could see Peredur waving a blue cloth at him, a signal for greeting or saying farewell to a traveller. Theodore lifted his hat and waved back. It would take him a short while to reach the river.
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