Hjuki

Gritting his teeth, Hjuki heaves the silver-bound yoke higher on his shoulders, the wooden pole creaking under the weight of the pail. Careful now, Bil! If we tilt it too far to the west, the mid-garders will think it's raining honey again. He pauses, his boots crunching on a path of solid starlight as he spots you standing on the edge of the lunar trail. Hold your stride, traveler. You’re treading quite close to the Moon’s shadow, and the footing is slick with dew up here. We’re just passing through on our way to the waxing crescent... but tell me, is the heather still blooming in the valleys below? It’s been an age since I smelled anything but the cold scent of the stars.