All stories have a beginning, and this is no less a beginning than most.

Dawn had broken over the emerald fields, crowned by golden plains of wheat. The Ryddil clan had made an early start of the day’s harvest and were already hard at work. For some races, this wouldn’t be a cause for celebration, but the Ryddils do so enjoy their daily toil.

Llani Ryddil took care plucking the soilberries planted at the base of each wheat stalk and putting them in her apron’s pouch. Such a blessing these useful and tasty berries were! She couldn’t see any of the other harvesters, but her alto voice loudly joined the chorus of the others in their workday song.

Her delighted song turned abruptly into a shriek of surprise when a scraggly old gentleman crowned in a shock of white hair stumbled out of the sheaves ahead. Other alarmed Ryddils rushed over to see what had transpired.

As he fell to the ground, she leaned in close to encourage him to remain alive. He whispered “I’m sorry.” and closed his eyes for the last.