Light rose over the Kingdom of Nod, flooding in rosy waves over rivers and valleys, barns and boulders, roads and fields. over winking crystalline fields of Anyeo and the singing brooks and sighing ponds.

People were stirring, slowly moving in the yards and on the roads. Mornings were peaceful in the Kingdom of Nod, because it was protected by a mountain range from the Kingdom of Fog, where the enemy reigned.

Nestled into the foothills of the mountains lay the fields of a great master of growing thing, which lay splendidly over the rich soil. The master of growing things was a wise man, running his household in a generous and fair manner. In return, both his servants and his crops gave abundantly and with joy.

While most of the crops were foodstuff or fields for grazing sheep and goats, a few choice fields were held back for Anyeo. This fiber was prized by the king for its soft texture yet its twinkling visuals—when treated right its threads could provide a subtle glow in addition to the warmth of regular yarn made out of wool or flax.

Anyeo grew slowly, and required great care, so the master of growing things—who gained his reputation by successfully sorting out the seeds of the Anyeo from the seeds of the Dago, a similar plant from the Kingdom of Fog but whose fibers were rough and gnarled, thrashing the hands of the people who worked with it—carefully taught the most conscientious of his servants how to grow the Anyeo plant, how to tend and water it, how to spot when things were growing wrong or when the plants might not yield the revered sparkle texture.

Yves, a maid in this household, moved through a courtyard. She was a spinner who spun the plant of the Anyeo into threads of many colors, and wove those threads into great tapestries and embroideries that adorned the halls of her masters house. She one day hoped to spin and weave for the king.

Each morning, before she bent over her work, Yves took time to stretch her back and her legs, to remind herself of where the Anyeo fibers came from, and the work it took to get them to grow by walking through the fields. Over time, she had come to know the other servants, and they developed  a friendship over dedication to growing the best Anyeo ever.

On this ever-so-slightly chilly day, Yves marveled at how the rosy light of the dawn glinted off the tender buds of the Anyeo. they sprouted across the field like little rows of marching toy soldiers. Dappled light from the Yangtee Trees overhead dampened some of the sparkle, except…and at this, she stopped short. It wasn’t just the dampened light, something wasn’t quite right. some of the plants didn’t glimmer. the buds looked smaller, sharper. the stalks looked a bit menacing.

Something was wrong.

Yves whirled, and hurried along the path to the outbuildings. the first person she came across, an established gardener named Roland, looked up in surprise as she rounded the corner, out of breath.

“Roland!” She puffed. “Something is wrong in the Anyeo fields!”

“Wrong?” Roland said.

“Yes! Some of the plants look different, like they’re dying or something.”

Roland’s brow crinkled. “Show me.”

So Yves and Roland found themselves back in the Aneyo fields, examining the crop. With the sun a bit higher, the difference between plants was stark. Some grew normally, their tender, pale yellow buds turning toward the sunlight. Others, growing in and around the normal Anyeo plants, were dull with only a hint of bud or growth.

Roland poked around the plants, stroking his beard and poking in the dirt around the rows of plants.

Finally, Roland spoke. “Hmmph, I’ve never seen this before. Let us take it to the Master.” Carefully donning a pair of gardening gloves, Roland snipped samples from each of the plants and wrapped them carefully in his handkerchief.

“Come,” he said, and so Roland and Yves set off to see the Master of Growing Things.

***

Later that morning, Roland and Yves found themselves in the main hall of the manor house. The late morning sun poured into the room from the paned glass windows up at the top. A stained-glass rosette over the heavy oak doors cast a brilliant blue patterns on the polished stone floors. Yves waited patiently. Roland could not help but pace back and forth, much to the chagrin of the guard on watch.

Finally, their names were called and this unlikely pair crossed the cavernous hall to the Master of Growing Things. He was seated on a high chair, but somehow looked friendly and accessible. Roland unfolded the handkerchief bundle containing the Anyeo and the not-Anyeo plants, and explained the situation quickly.

As he did, the Master’s face fell into a darker and darker countenance.

“Bring the plants to me,” he commanded.

Roland did so, bringing the little bundle before the high seat. The Master of Growing things bent over the seedlings for a great while. Then he looked up:

“It is as I feared,” he said. “An enemy has sown the seeds of the Dago plant in amongst the Anyeo.”

Yves let out an involuntary gasp. The Master of Growing Things looked her way. “Do not worry, my child. We will fix this.”

Roland snapped to attention. “My Lord,” he said, “let me gather the men. We will have the last Dago plant routed by sundown.”

The Master shook his head. “No, no,” he said.

Roland stopped short, crestfallen. “No?”

“If you rout out the Dago, you’ll disturb the roots of the Anyeo, which could impact a smaller, tougher harvest.”

“But sir, with the Dago mixed in there won’t BE a harvest!” Roland was indignant. He wanted to ACT. In the absence of marching over the mountains to take revenge on whoever (someone, anyone) who had done this act of violence on his field, he wanted to take out his anger on the Dago plants.

“Patience,” the Master said. “Let the two plants grow up together. As they grow, they will be even easier to distinguish. When the harvest comes, sort the crop. Bring the piles of Anyeo plant into my barns for Yves and the other weavers to prepare. Take the Dago plants to the edge of my lands and burn them.”

At once, Yves saw the wisdom of this plan. This way would cause the least harm to the tender growing Anyeo plants, and would be easy for the harvesters to carry out since the Dago had no sparkle or sheen.

She glanced at Roland, who blew out a breath very forcefully into his beard, but nodded. The Master clapped his hands together, and their audience was at an end.

***

And so it came to pass. The Anyeo and the Dago grew together in the field, peacefully with plenty of light and water. (Although Roland assigned a young man to watch each field by night.) As harvest time arrived, the Anyeo plants grew lighter and shimmerier, while the Dago plants grew darker and duller. It was quick work for the threshers to pull the Anyeo from the Dago, and toss the Dago unceremoniously into the firepits.

Yves and the other weavers transformed the raw Anyeo buds into works of art. The weavings from that year’s harvest were among the most beautiful ever seen.