Adventures

Field records from the roads, the harvests and the tables we drank at along the way. Written after the fact, mostly honestly.

We stepped out of the portal

The first crossing: the ruins on the far side, the one who was waiting there, and the cup we did not put down.

A delivery to the upper houses that took two days longer than it should have, and one detour we would take again.

The last evening of picking, the whole crew on the wall, and the bottle we opened before anyone had washed their hands.