Phandelver’s lanes open onto the cooper’s yard, where the air turns dry with fresh sawdust and green oak. Hoops clatter in neat stacks, and hammer taps ring from under a lean awning.
Slaan leads the way in silence. Nhal lingers at the edge of the yard, watching the grain curls drift over the plank floor like pale shavings of light.
Nhal
The smell is sharp. Clear. It has edges I can follow.
A cooper looks up from a barrel frame, wipes his hands on his apron, and studies the pair with cautious interest. Behind him, a young apprentice keeps the hoops from rolling away.
The Cooper
You’re welcome to stand where you like, so long as you do not step in the shavings. They ruin a good fit.
Elara
This is better for Nhal than the shrine. Touch, sound, work, it gives the mind something to hold.
Nhal crouches beside a half-finished stave, fingertips hovering over the wood, while the yard’s steady rhythm settles around them like a pulse.
“I let Nhal touch the barrel staves”
Slaan lifts the stave toward Nhal, and the apprentice pauses long enough for the wood to settle in their hands.
Nhal
Warm. It feels like it can hold a shape without fighting back.
The Cooper
Good. Then let it, and keep your fingers clear of the grain.
Nhal nods, then runs their fingertips along the curve with careful delight as the yard keeps working around them.
“I sit back and let Nhal discover her new found freedom and study my spell book.”
SUCCESS (Superb Willpower, rolled +0)
Slaan eases down beside the workbench, her spell book open across her knees while the yard settles into its own rhythm. Sawdust drifts in the light under the awning, and the quiet between hammer taps feels earned.
Nhal
The book has weight, but not like the archive. This kind of weight stays with you.
Nhal turns the stave over in both hands, testing its curve against their palm, then looks back toward the scattered shavings with a small, wondering stillness.
Elara
That is the sort of quiet that teaches, if you let it.
The cooper watches from his post, wary but no longer sharp, while the apprentice gives the hoop stack one last steadying press and lets it stand on its own.
The Cooper
Wood remembers the hand that respects it. Same as people, sometimes.
Slaan
The margin notes are older than I expected.
Nhal traces the stave’s grain, then lets their shoulders sink as if the yard has finally given them something solid to answer to.