Poetry With my Da: About Butterflies

13th of Frostfall
This is Alvia Lone-Cloak with my Da, Alvoleid Lone-Cloak and it’s the 13th of Frostfall

Daughter, I was rummaging through the poems you found yesterday and I found one that I think you might like

Oh? What’s it about?

Your livelihood: Butterflies

Da, you know that I’m an alchemist. Raising butterflies is just part of my overall craft

Alvia, we both know that everyone in town calls your store “The Butterfly Garden”. All the young men say that the beauty of the garden is only surpassed by the gardener

[blushes] Da, they don’t say that

Hah! It’s true! A father can brag can’t he? You’ve never been much for flattery either

The poem, Da?

Heh heh, very well. This one is called “Fleeting Comfort”

>The open land awaits my hoof
my steed, my word;
The wind carries a chipper tune
sung by a bird
>This frozen tundra
cold, unforgiving;
These frozen flowers
frozen, beautiful
>The Butterflies give gentle kisses
to willing buds;
The Flowers, they give sweet, sweet nectar
to weary travelers
>A harsh wind blows
a frozen swipe;
Their tiny corpse
on longer flutter

Why would Songheart want to end a poem like that!?

Hmph, you seem to forget your history. When this poem was written, whatever government that claimed sovereignty didn’t have the resources to protect themselves AND their citizens. Ulfric was busy with his rebellion, and the Empire was busy with the Thalmor. Who was to take care of us common folk?

Couldn’t the citizens band together? Every other Nord always claims to be a warrior, where was their warrior spirit?

HA! Warrior spirit! During the Nordic War, we were too busy trying to eek out enough food to feed ourselves! What didn’t go to whichever war effort went to bandits, and we survived off what was left!

I never realized. . . .

No, you didn’t. You were too young. Besides, you were born in Solitude, so we had it easier than most. HA! Don’t give me that look. You were but a babe! There was nothing that you could’ve done about it.

[Alvia gives her father a feigned expression of hopelessness]

Oh! My poor defenseless daughter! This can’t be the same girl who broke a boy’s arm when he said that she’d only be good for being pretty and cooking!

DA!

[Alvia scrambles to dispel the Listening Stone…]

I apologize for the interruption. I had to get my Da back to the story. . .

*HAHAHAHA! AND THEN YOU SAID, AFTER YOU BROKE HIS ARM YOU SAID “Women hold many surprises, but now you can’t hold anything” HAHAHAHA! DA! We agreed to stop talking about this!*

[Laughter fading] Ha. . . . . hmph. . . [with still a trace of laughter] I was so proud of you. You became a true Nord that day

Oh, Da. . . What about the poem?

Ah yes, back to business, hmm? sigh That poem. . . That poem described a lot of the feelings I was having when I was younger. That trip to Solitude after my discharge was as long as the view was beautiful. It lets a man think. About his past. About his future. . . [stares into the fire] I wondered what man I was to become. What kind of life I would lead and what I would leave behind. Daughter, you make me proud. If only your mother could be here to see how you’ve become a true woman

I love you too, Da. . .
_

This is Alvia Lone-Cloak, 13th of Frostfall, night. My father laughed himself into a deep sleep. I think I should stop buying him so much drink [chuckles].

[pauses thoughtfully]

My father. . . . he’s so proud of me. I never really stopped to think about it. I wonder what my mother would think of me now. I should ask Da about her later. For now, this concludes this etching __

Sorry that it took me so long to post a sequal to my first Nordic Poems story. I've been busy with school and whatnot. I hope you enjoy this one as much as the first one. Constructive criticism is always welcome!