The song from the woods first called to me on a bright June morning while I sat on the back porch swing rereading my favorite cookbook. I could only hear a few notes, a small taste of half-remembered melody that meandered through the air, but I was instantly hungry to hear the whole thing and discover where it came from. I crossed the yard and stopped at the edge of the woods. As the music drifted toward me like an irresistible aroma. I held my breath and stepped into the trees.
I had random.org select a page for me today, it decided on page 172.
Generations of soothsayers had met with clients in the little lamp-lit booths that filled the five floors, to share a pot of Timbrel Tea and then read the leaves at the bottom of the cup. Some teas were good for predicting romance or happy turns of fortune; some could help foresee trouble. Others – stronger treas for stronger stomachs – opened the gateways to darker knowledge. The place was no longer licensed for fortune-telling, though Molly had heard rumours that after midnight, the current owners (spectrally pale siblings with a habit of suddenly appearing at your table) would secretly admit local seers and their customers.
Hello hello everyone!