Text-only logo saying "Circadian Forest"

Ch. 2 – No. 3: Olfactory Introductions

Betula sends Clove on an errand.

Illustration Betula's Vittles & Inn, which is a tall brick building. The Left half of the building is taller with four floors, and the right half of the building is shorter, encompassing only the bottom two floors. There is a slanted, curved roof on each staggered half of the building. The taller portion has three small chimney pipes protruding upward, with a large brick chimney just peaking over the left side of the roof, attached to the lefthand wall which is out of view with this perspective. This chimney has light smoke puffing from the top. There is a swinging sign attached to the righthand side of the building, at ground level. Each floor has rectangular windows, though there are two triangular windows at each slant of each roof. There is a main entrance wooden door on the ground floor with a rounded top, and there is a rectangular door on the righthand side of the building. The foundation of the building is lined with low-growing shrubbery. A worn path leads up to two steps leading to the front door. Tufts of grasses surround the building, and there are a few short scraggly fruit trees on either side of the building, with voluptuous foliage. Beyond the building, in the background, there is a point where manicured landscape meets an expanse of wild growth, with a few trees and low-growing leafy plants and reeds. Beyond this are the silhouettes of buildings and houses, which are the main cluster of Yonderwood village. It is overcast, with patches of clouds.

Hazy light filtered through the windows in the front and righthand walls of Betula’s Vittles & Inn. Just inside the door to the right, a party of three sat at a booth in the corner lounging casually and chatting, wine in hand, a large plate of fried fish among various vegetables laid out in the middle of the table. Two of the round tables in the middle of the room were occupied: one with a single burly, hooded individual who was bent over a stein and pondering a solo card game. At the other, a party of two sat inspecting a map in front of them, clad in long-haul traveler’s gear.

In the middle of the quiet bar, the shell-headed person sat quietly on a stool, her pale, pliable legs crossed in such a way that they almost wrapped around one another. Betula stood behind the counter in front of her, meticulously preparing a beverage.

“Please do not add salt,” crooned an airy voice from within the shell.

“You got it Serin, I never do,” Betula assured her.

She garnished the drink with a citrus rind and slid it across the bar to Serin, who produced a long, thin, flexible proboscis from her shell with which she sucked a small sip from the beverage.

The bell above the front door jingled and Betula looked up to see Clove cross the threshold, large coat flapping behind her.

“Hi Betula,” Clove greeted her as she approached the bar.

“Afternoon Clove.” Betula gestured to her, “Have you two met? Serin, this here’s Clove. Clove, this here’s Serin.”

Snaking her proboscis over to Clove, just next to her ear, Serin sat silent, seemingly inspecting Clove by way of some sensory input. Clove remained still and observed with curiosity as Serin seemed to learn some variety of information about her.

Appearing to conclude her study, Serin inquired, “Your scent is that of the forest. Do you live there?”

Clove nodded. “I do. Your scent is that of the lake. Do you live there?”

“I do,” Serin answered, and sucked a sip of her drink.

An illustration of, from left to right, Clove, Betula, and Serin the shell-headed person. They are at the bar counter at Betula's Vittles & Inn, and the scene is situated on the patron side of the counter. Three stools sit below the counter, and Serin is sitting on the far right stool with her legs wound around one another. She has a white strip of fabric wrapped around her four breasts and criss-crossing dow her back to wrap around her hips. Here hands are webbed, and she has a snail shell where one's head would be, with her neck disappearing into the opening of the shell. She is holding a cup which is resting on the counter. Betula is behind the counter with a hand on her hip. Betula is a tall, wide woman with medium-shaded straight hair, light skin, and rounded ears. She is all-around a hairy person, with a thick beard braided into two lengths at her chin, thick eyebrows, chest and arm hair, and her straight hair is braided into two lengths laying down over her chest. She has hoop earrings and winged eyeliner. She is wearing a dress with flowy sleeves that reach her elbows, and the front comes together with bottoms, styled in a rather plunging manner. A dark, wide corset belt cinches the flowy dress at her waist. Behind Betula are shelves of bottles and jars. Clove is standing on the left side of the image, her and Serin are facing on another. Clove is a short, thin woman with light skin and short, messy curly hair of a medium shade. She has pointed ears and her curly bangs fall into her face. She is wearing a long, dark jacket with a hood and a couple of patches on it, and a wide belt at her waist from which hangs a strap of throwing knives on her right side, and on her left side a satchel hangs from a strap attached to the belt. She is wearing a dark shirt with a low V collar that is sinched together at her chest. She is wearing fitted pants of a medium shade. A long, thin proboscis extends from the opening of Serin's shell at her neck, and the end is held to Clove's face. Clove is simply watching, expressionless and seemingly not fazed.

“Worlds colliding!” Betula boomed. “What can I do ya for my lass?”

“I’ve got a letter to mail,” Clove retrieved an envelope from the satchel at her side. “And could I bother you for a-“

“Tenderling?” Betula predicted, already reaching for the jar of dried leaves.

“You got me,” Clove smiled, placing the letter on the countertop and reaching to retrieve coins from her satchel.

“Tell ya what,” Betula said, “Postage ‘n drink are on me if y’can deliver somethin’ to the lighthouse for me on yer way home.”

Halting with a few coins in her hand, Clove reversed her action, depositing them back in her bag.

“Sure thing, it’s a deal,” she agreed, taking a seat one stool away from Serin.

Betula handed Clove an old hardcover book, the title of which read “Wine and Brine”, and commenced concocting Clove’s tea.

“It was alright,” Betula elaborated, gesturing to the book, proceeding to pour two liquids into a pitcher. This yielded an effervescence and haze which swirled above the vessel for a moment before dissipating to a low fog clinging to the surface of the liquid. She poured the solution into a ceramic cup.

“Fiction. More of a ‘day-in-the-life’ than I care for. Sailors doin’ sailor things, you know. Could’a used more action if y’ask me. Plenty’a smoochin’ though, had that goin’ for it.” She slowly poured hot water over a leaf-laden strainer into the cup. The water filtered through the contents and emerged from the strainer as a much darker liquid.

“So this goes to the lighthouse?” Clove inquired as she tucked the book into her satchel.

“Ey, lighthouse keeper’s got a big book collection, practically a lil library. Lends ’em out to folks in town,” Betula informed her, sliding the steaming tea across the counter.

Betula strode toward the front of the building to the end of the counter and turned right, disappearing through the swinging kitchen door that punctuated the sprawling inset shelves of bottles and jars. Muffled mumbles wafted from beyond door, while Clove and Serin sat sipping from their cups, content to share silence together.

Taking her last sip, Clove pushed the cup across the counter and stood, arranging her jacket and fastening it closed.

“Nice to meet you, Serin.” Clove bid her farewell and glanced around in search of Betula, who promptly emerged from the kitchen with a pastry on a plate and delivered it to the card player.

“Likewise to you, Clove of the Forest,” Serin breathed.

Waving across the room to Betula, Clove departed into the encroaching evening.

Betula rounded the end of the counter and began gathering ware in need of cleaning. “Tell ya the truth, I hadn’t yet finished that book,” Betula sighed. “That girl needs a sharp prod in the ass t’make some friends ’round here.”

Serin paused a moment. “Wouldn’t that hurt?”

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