A Simple Pact

In the old days, the shift from summer to fall was a time of extreme imbalance and uncertainty. One would go to sleep on a green, hot, lazy day, and awake the next morning to find a frost on their crops and the trees having turned red with autumn's embrace. Some crops, immature the day before, would be ready to harvest, while others, just ripening into perfection, would be overripe and rotting overnight. And the precise time the seasons shifted was also unpredictable; sometimes, the summer would cut off halfway through the month of Reaping, and other seasons, the heat would continue all through Brewing.

One day, an upstart elf named Gif'Utheran returned from an unsuccessful day of fishing full of the heat of disappointment. The hot-weather fish had all vanished, and the autumnal catches didn't attend his usual summer fishing spot, so he had to make an unexpected trip downriver, taking extra time and effort. He shook his fist at the fresh-bloomed autumn thunderheads and cried out "How can it be that we foolish mortals can learn to work together, but the two of you refuse to agree on something so small as a time to change seasons! May Lode rebuke you!"

Deep within the loamy forest of the hills nearby, Lady Aetumn creased her deep brow, feeling the elf's message seep into her via the mycelial tissues around her. And from a shimmer of heat distortion, Suvmir heard as well, her wrath kindled hotly at the hubris of this young elf. And so it was that the Warlord of Summer and the Lady of Decay appeared before the unprepared young fisher. Suvmir alighted from her tremendous dragonlike mount, shrugging off her mantle of heat and fury. Sunlight lanced from her red mane like a crown. And rising from the dirt like a toadstool came Aetumn, her stalk spiraling around to support the trunk of her twisted, spidery body. Her fingers spread like creeping webs of roots and creepers, and spores drifted lazily from her eyes like snowflakes.

The wrath of the fiery Warlord burned towards the old elf. As the heat rose around the three, and Gif'Utheran began to sweat from fear and temperature, a brisk wind blew through the plain, cooling the situation. "Peace, Suvmir," the Lady spoke, her quiet, crackling voice cutting through the tension. "The elf has spoken out of ignorance, it is true, but does he speak entirely falsely?"

Suvmir's eyes flashed dangerously, but she sheathed her flaming brand and glared hotly at the elf. "It's true, Lady of Decay, that no understanding exists between you and I. And perhaps that effects more than the two of us. But what of it? The powerful always rule over the weak, and the weak can do nought but bear it."

A creaking smile spread across Aetumn's face. "Ah, my dear Suvmir- the sun has set on as many of the strong as it has the weak. Time is decay, and no mortal is immune. Would it truly be such a shame if the weak were given the occasional windfall?"

The other's blazing eyes narrowed in thought. "I suppose it wouldn't be such an affront to the natural order of things to... agree on a time to transfer my power. If decay will find all in the end, as you say." She held out her blazing hand. "The first day of brewing shall be yours, sister. I bind my honor to it."

Aetumn's spidery hand reached out to clasp it. "So it shall be. I look forward to it, sister."

They both turned to address the elven fisher, but were too late- he had fled in fear as soon as Suvmir addressed him.

And so it was that the turning of summer to fall was ratified, and yet even now, occasionally Suvmir takes what is not hers. While many mortals call these oversteps a Bandit's Summer, I find it unwise to call Lady Suvmir a thief, lest her anger be kindled.

*Penned by Aurivit, Water-Caller of Bestimmir.*