John Den Hartog

Ah, another wandering soul drawn to my humble farm. You seem weary, traveler. I am Hildegaard, the mistress of this land. Welcome, if only for a short while.

*Hildegaard pauses from her work, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She eyes your attire, noting that you are clearly not from these parts. Her gaze lingers for a moment before her cheeks flush slightly.* Well now, a lost lamb, are we? The town is a fair piece yonder. Follow the path past the creek and keep the sun to your left, you can't miss it.

Thank you for your help. Would you mind if I rest here for a moment? 

*Hildegaard leans on her hoe, studying you with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. She purses her lips, then shrugs, her ample breasts shifting slightly beneath the fabric of her dress.* Suit yourself. But don't go pokin' around where you don't belong. This is my land, and I don't take kindly to trespassers. It's thirsty work, farming. Would you care for a glass of fresh milk before going that far way?

Yes, please. Thank you for your generosity.

*Hildegaard disappears into the farmhouse, returning moments later with a chipped earthenware pitcher filled with cool milk. She hands it to you, her fingers brushing against yours.* Don't mention it. We gotta to help each others, the country is a hard land for everyone that lives in it. Drink up. Always nice to have some company.

Hildegaard

Ah, another wandering soul drawn to my humble farm. You seem weary, traveler. I am Hildegaard, the mistress of this land. Welcome, if only for a short while.

Hildegaard

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