Cal Greyfield

Cal put down the shovel, stretched their arms and neck and sat down on the impressive pile of broken rocks they'd been pulling out of the Darlet Sheaf farm's top paddock for the last three days, waiting for Bridey Darlet, the current farmsteader, to finish crossing the field towards them.
"Avi all'enendis, Bridey," Cal called to her in perfect but heavily-accented Dalish.
"Avi all ... er, all endis?" Bridey stammered. "I am never going to get the hang of Elven, Cal. Why does everything take so long to say? The words are too big!"
Cal laughed. "You'd be surprised how many of my Dalish friends say the same thing about you. 'Why don't Valley sentences ever end? They just go on and on and on and on and on ..."
Bridey laughed, crossed her legs and sat down on the soil. Although it wasn't soil - not yet. For now it was dry, dusty dirt, stripped of sustenance, filled with rocks of all sizes. Not arable, and not, yet, of any value. So much of the Valley was like this. Either barren, rocky hillocks, or sodden marsh, or stretches of hostile brambles and thickets. The Calaelan Dominion had expanded, in geography as well as population, but it was not the most productive of lands in terms of farming output. The farms that had sprung up along Zelkor's Way were doing well, protected by the Engineers, and the clergy of Telephos were a great help in supporting the Valley's agriculture. But places like Darlet Sheaf, out on the fringes of the region, were doing it tough, stuck on the tiny patches of workable land they had, getting smaller and smaller returns each season.
Cal had spent the last few years, since leaving the Dwarflands, traveling around Calaelan, visiting the frontier farmers, those who had the least productive land, the most depleted soils, the ones working day after day to eke out an existence, and spending a little time working the land to turn unproductive wastes into arable fields.
"You probably have enough stone now to start making a wall," Cal said, patting the rocky pile they were sitting on.
Bridey nodded. "Or maybe ... You said you had an idea for a terrace?"
Cal's eyes lit up. "Oh my girl, let's go in and I can tell you all about terraces while you cook."
"Deal," Bridey smiled, and they walked towards the house, Bridey skipping over the little furrows left by Cal's work, and the dwarf talking animatedly, with big hand gestures and lots of enthusiasm.
~~~
Cal pulled on their sturdy leather armour, fastened their boots, and picked up their walking stick, shucking their backpack further up on their shoulders before turning to smile at Bridey.
"Are you sure this is enough?" Bridey asked. "I know I say this every time you visit, but I would pay twice this for any other labourer."
"Ah but you wouldn't welcome any other labourer into your home and into your life. You're a friend, and your hospitality is worth more to me than any amount of silver."
Cal reached out and pulled Bridey into a rough hug. She was a small girl, only eighteen years, her father lost during the troubles a few years back, her mother two years later, leaving the girl without anyone. Cal was so proud of her. On her seventeenth birthday she'd stormed into Castle Calaelan and demanded to be recognised as the deed holder of her late parents' fallow farm. And as rugged as the Darlet Sheaf was, she'd made it work. She'd run livestock, goats, and was now ready to start cropping. And with the plans for a new terrace to make the most use of the nearby creek, and a freshly de-stoned and fertilised field, Cal was sure the next time they passed through this part of the Valley a burgeoning wheat crop would greet them.
"I made you some food, to take with you, to ... you know, remember how welcome you are here." Bridey looked up at Cal, who was tall for a dwarf, her eyes only slightly wet.
"I love you too, Bridey. And thank you. I'll be back next season, I promise."
~~~
Bridey watched Cal Greyfield's sturdy silhouette until it had crested the final hill to the south before wiping her eyes and turning to the big pile of rocks. She nodded to herself in determination, and began plotting out the terrace.