Oblivion Mod:Oscuro's Oblivion Overhaul/Observations on the Love for Nature

Book Information Observations on the Love for Nature
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Observations on the Love for Nature

by Penilda Hopeslong

A woman's account of her love for her animals

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[I recognize this book. It is a highly controversial and amusing story that ravaged the high court of Sentinel many years ago. Its copies have both been praised and banned, torn and locked. One thing is certain: the author became a very prominent and influential figure, despite what the gossip surrounding her claimed, much to the horror of concerned husbands of noble blood]

This small book is dedicated to my furry friends, for whom so much my heart aches when I think about the injustice that the world brings unto them.

My curiosity has always prodded my conscience whenever the thought of nature and human came to me. The boundaries that separate us from nature are so fragile, so ephemeral and, dare I make this childish rhyme, ethereal, that I wonder endlessly about their origin and cause. With those thoughts in mind, and with my agile pen in hand, I set out to write these witty and clever notes for you, my distinguished audience, to enjoy in riveting pleasure. For, no doubt, you find the mysteries of nature as interesting as I do. Perhaps you do not love them as I do, my vigorous friends of the wild, but I cannot imagine how one could not be intrigued, at least, if not drawn and spell-bound, by the majesty and thrust of their limbs, their soft and terse furry necks, their innocent and passionate eyes and their able and poweful bodies.

To prove my credentials to you, perhaps skeptic audience, let me tell in few words the origin of my humble love. I am a simple woman with a clever mind. Nothing fit to the harsh labors of the land. My infancy was spent in my fathers' farm, for whom I hold no love, but only an eternal aversion. He insisted in making a farmer out of me. He could not bear the thought of her only daughter becoming a rogue in the cities, selling my soul to any available man for the promise of food and shelter. Such an uneducated man. The penurious state of our cities no longer exists, after the Miracle of Peace that secured our borders with Orsinium, we live in relative safety in the closeness of Vermeir

Still, my father remained oblivious to the motion of allegiances around his modest farm and cottage, forever focused in this love of the harvest and its giving flora. I refused to join him in those horrible days under the sun, with my back bent and my hands torn after unearthing bulbs endelessly. My father eventually gave up and asked me to take care of our cattle and horses. This was the best gift he ever gave me, even if involuntary, even if meant as punishment. The only thing that redeems him in my eyes was this insignificant order.

From then on, I took care of our animals while he slaved his health away in the unyielding fields. We lived a solitary existence. Beyond our land lied nothing but acre upon acre of territory owned by a local powerful noble. This landowner exploited his laborers with an iron fist, until the settling of frontiers brought commerce and prosperity to their families. Soon they left for the service of better lords, or for the allures of a merchant's life.

With the departure of our closest neighbors, who sometimes visited our farm in search of supplies, our time became monotonous and sterile. Every day was the same as the previous one, and the same as the next. Those were lonely months. Those were the months where I learned that it more than just humans felt the terrible solitude of the heart. The animals under my care became very attached to my presence, and I to theirs. I understood then that my feelings and emotions were mirrored in the eyes of my furry friends. They too saw my longing eyes. They too felt for me what I felt for them.

As time passed, we became much, much closer. I still remember most vividly of all my memories, the first night I spent in the stables, leaning against "Mettle", a strong and beautiful horse born two years prior the date. We heaved and huffed together, all night long, and I felt like I was part of him. I cannot call him by other name. Mettle was a he, more so than I could have ever imagined. Never before I felt so full and alive. My father could barely recognize me the next morning, when I managed to walk back to the cottage. I did not want to leave Mettle, but I could not let my father see me like that, lying in the ground of the stables like what for him was just another filthy animal. And filthy and dirty I was, I can assure you, but happier than a young mare in Spring.

Father was surprised, but took my improvised lies with a grunt and set out to work, without another word. I knew that he was curious and suspicious of my sudden change of behavior. He looked at me during the day. He never before lifted his eyes from the ground while at work on the fields. I ignored him and pretended to carry on as usual, but sometimes my awakaned feelings betrayed me, and I glanced constantly at the pastures where the horses fed. Mettle looked at me from the distance. I knew he wanted to leave the herd and offer his back to me so that I could rest against his massive body.

With much care and caution, I began to spend long nights in the stables, enjoying the company of my friend Mettle and his herd. Father, broken every day after the long hours of work, could never hear a sound in the house, much less coming from the stables. I started to believe that only the herd and I existed. Days were a dreamworld, and at night I became alive once more.

It was a clear night, the moon shone throughout the land and not a whisper could be heard. I snuck out of the house and into the stables, as I was now so accostumed to do. Mettle had had a long day of work too. Father had put a yoke on him and forced him to crack the land open with heavy iron. Barely could I contain myself when I saw father crack the whip at him. I promised to myself that I would make up for the injustice that very night--I know Mettle expected that too, he looked at me with sad but determined eyes. I wanted to take care of him, I wanted to show him that he could find care and love from a human, as much as any other horse would give him. That night I let it all out. I talked to him, loudly. I jumped and ran and mounted him naked, feeling him against me for hours.

In the frenzy I completely forgot about the world. Only Mettle and I existed. I was wrong. Father broke through the doors of the stable and saw me on the floor, in all fours, like the animals for which he had so much contempt. Sword in hand, alarmed, he could not believe his eyes. I could not move. The world froze in a spell, for a second, before father charged at us bellowing. Mettle got scared and lift his front legs high in the air. Father sought to push me away from him and swung his sword against his flank. It drew blood. I was frantic, ashamed and furious all at once. I could not restrain myself. I yelled as loud as my lungs would give out and pushed father away from me. He lost his balance and could not avoid Mettle's hoof, which came down like a hammer against his head. Suddenly, silence cried out. Father lay in a pool of blood, right where moments before I lay with Mettle. I leaned down to help him. It was too late. He was dead.

The rest of the night, I laid there, by father's body, contemplating the past, wondering if the injustices done unto my loves deserved such an end. I contemplated the memories of our time together, those long days without a word, but also those joyous moments when Mother lived and we savored life without pause. I was overwhelmed with pity and fury. The fate that now awaited us was a dark and bottomless hole that allowed no light into its depths. Mettle shared my grief, and rested his head in my lap, gently caressing Father's face. I had not realized that before, but now I knew that we were, once more, alone.

With the day so came the urge to erase this sad past. I packed what I could and gathered the animals for a journey. Without father I could no longer survive. The horses would go freely, if so they desired, but they could not bear our separation. Mettle and the rest of the herd stood nearby as I lit fire to the cottage. I set out to the lands of the neighboring noble. He gave me a warm welcome and accepted my offer to stay and caretake his animals. He also accepted my own. After so many servants had left, the man was desperate for helping hands.

The rest of my days in the noble's lands were once again filled with care and love. I tirelessly oversaw his flocks and herds. Despite being so reclusive and quiet, I quickly earned respect for my ability to communicate and command the animals. I lived there as if in two worlds, once more. An existence of human during the day, and one of animal at night. It no longer felt alien to me. That was my greatest discovery and joy. My own self, divided, was more wholesome than when only one of its sides existed. It is indeed strange that, despite my passion for my animal friends, I should have need of other humans so as to give meaning to my existence beyond the confines of utter solitude. This is why I am in amazement at that which separates us and makes us two that are merely sides of the same thing. I can assure you that my love for animals is unmatched by my love of men, but in the same way, my reliance on men is unmatched by my reliance of animals. Except, of course, when the night is harsh and cold and I need to fill my body with warmth. Then, dare I say, nothing compares to the company of my furry friends.

To all of you, bored ladies of high-class, nobles of tired hearts and idle chatter, I would gladly show you what nowhere else you may find. This book is as much a tribute to my friends, as it is a letany for the memory of my father, as it is an invitation to leave your everyday and adventure where no man should follow you. Ah, my all-too-clever tale, of sad days and glorious pleasures, shall make its way to your stale halls in palaces and manors. You shall wonder about my life and fate, and laugh and tremble with excitement, possibly retreat at the thought of what I here describe. Trust me, your curiosity is well regarded. Do yourselves a favor and visit the local stables next your husbands leave your homes to band together as men, hunting poor creatures in the woods to make themselves look more manly than what they could ever otherwise become. Let this book be a reminder of your savage nature, of your divided nature, for even if you shall not love my friends, you shall love yourselves, despite however much you may deny this truth. If you cannot find freedom in the chambers of your venison-stuffed lords, come to the lands of Vermeir and ask for Penilda Hopeslong. There is no better ride in the entire county and province of Sentinel.


Until our next chapter and meeting, my dear and most esteemed ladies,
P.H.