Chatter Mill

It’s hard to search in such cold weather. Everything smells of snow and biting winds, with any wild smells locked inside the ice. I seek the path to Chatter Mill, to buy a little bag of Haggard flour – it makes an excellent paste for medicines. But I can’t see the turning windmill blades or hear the clunk-clunk of the mill, or smell any sort of smells like grains or ground seeds.

Am I lost altogether? In a day this blustery I would not be surprised. I’ll be alright, I’ve got my coat and hat to keep the wind off. There are plenty of houses around here, I’ll go and get my bearings and warm my toes.

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