Brother John

Brother John came to live at Crowfield Abbey at Midsummer. He brought with him youth and a pleasing nature, and the love of stories. In recent weeks, my joints have been troubling me and I have not been able to go out into the forest and fields as is my usual routine. Brother John has taken it upon himself to gather plants for me to use in my workshop, in my caudles and salves. He brings each basket full of roots, bark and leaves to me, along with stories he has gathered along the way from the people he meets.



I listen to his tales as I work, and Brother Walter the hob listens too, for Brother John is a fine storyteller. I suspect that Brother John knows the hob is there with us in the workshop. He has said nothing, so I cannot be sure, but from time to time his glance goes to the corner by the wood basket where the hob sits when we are not alone. One day soon, I will bring the hob out of hiding and let Brother John meet him. I think these two will get along well. Brother Walter has stories which the monk will never have heard before, tales of the fay and the Wildwood, strange and thrilling stories, filled with magic and darkness. I would like to think that after I have gone to my grave and the hob returns to the forest, as he surely will one day, the stories will live on in the hearts and minds of men through Brother John.