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Before you do <span class="mu-i">anything</span> towards crafting yourself a dress, you set up camp just outside the courtyard. You will be here for a few days, and you do not want to interrupt the flow of memories and mana through the flowers' rhizome.
The <span class="mu-i">Heimtasche</span> goes up as easily as it always does. You channel a touch of mana into it, and the backpack unfurls itself into a simple tent of green leather that looks like it can fit one or two people comfortably. Of course, looks can be deceiving. The interior is the size of a Ranger's cabin, dominated by a massive bed that is suitable for the trade plied by a Daughter of Irminsul. Once the Heimtasche is up, you go about setting the rest of your preparations.
The first of which has you take in hand the orb of iron that you have collected.
"First, <span class="mu-i">call to the metal's heart</span>," you intone the beginnings of an incantation. The orb becomes lighter and lighter in your hand as your mana takes over the job of holding it aloft. "Let the iron be shaped by my will. Become the cord that guards against the looming threat of midnight, and encapsulate this bounded field. Drive away the pest and the parasite and the mindless beast that knows not right from wrong. Against the higher souls, be thou the trumpet of warning which heralds their arrival..."
The iron obeys your command. The ball - which has been growing day by day on your journey from the size of your fist to the size of your head - unravels like a spool of wire, the end of which shoots around the perimeter that you with to protect. The courtyard where gather memories, histories, and mana, as well as the site of your campground all fall within the perimeter that you establish. When the wire finally finishes wrapping once around the area, it joins with the other end and completes the spell.
Light flashes. The sound of creatures squeaking in irritation as the barrier drives them out fills the courtyard and the ruin alongside the scurrying of tiny feet and the flapping of a hundred rings. Only the humble Bees who lived alongside those flowers remained within the barrier, for can you truly call such creatures <span class="mu-i">pests</span>?
No. Bees are friends to the Children, and the Children are friends to Bees.
Such has it been since the First Fruit fell from Yggdrasil at the Dawn of Life, and so too shall it continue until all roots of Yggdrasil wither away and the rules of [The World] collapse under the weight of a thousand aeons. Both the Bees and the Children have their place in the order of things, tending to the forests and the flower fields.
The forest endures. Its roots grow deep, and carry with them the wellspring of life and power across Eight of the Nine Lands.
The flowers remember. Their roots are shallow and fragile things - just as memories are too easily pulled out and forgotten - but they remember all the same. Those memories are carried back to the apple blossom and the cherry, and in the fullness of time they are returned to the Roots of Yggdrasil.
