{ "version": 1, "exportedAt": "2026-08-01T19:17:31.285Z", "hub": { "id": "d6e905af-6568-40d3-ac0c-de1fd21e78d8", "slug": "punaab", "title": "Punaab the Traveling Bard" }, "nodes": [ { "id": "c7dbb9a4-14ae-4ddc-a1db-5a8b28534a88", "slug": "place-leaning-shrines", "category": "places", "title": "The Leaning Shrines", "summary": "Two shrines and a broken wall, and all three of them leaning the same way, which is the way the wind comes.", "body": "Two shrines and a broken wall, and all three of them leaning the same way, which is the way the wind comes.\n\nTwo shrines and the stub of a wall out in the Tarnwild, all three leaning the same way, which is the way the wind comes off the fell. There is no village within a day's walk in any direction. Nobody keeps them, nothing carved on them can still be read, and there are always fresh things on the ledges — a coin, a nail, a heel of bread, once a child's shoe. I leave a copper. I could not tell you to whom, or for what. I stopped being embarrassed about that a long time before I stopped doing it.\n\nTwo shrines and a broken wall, and all three of them leaning the same way, which is the way the wind comes.\n\nNobody keeps these. There is no village within a day's walk. And there are fresh things on the ledges, so somebody comes.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-206,-56", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -206, "z": -56, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "leaning-shrines" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.935758+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "67144e0f-bc33-4cf1-924e-0f2681a03e00", "slug": "place-sweetwell", "category": "places", "title": "Sweetwell", "summary": "A spring on open heath, coming up cold out of nothing, in the middle of a moor that is sour for four miles in every direction.", "body": "A spring on open heath, coming up cold out of nothing, in the middle of a moor that is sour for four miles in every direction.\n\nSweetwell comes up cold on open heath in the middle of four miles of sour ground, tastes of iron, stains the stones orange, and is the only water anybody on this moor will drink. It stopped once, in a summer nobody wanted, and for six weeks the moor carried its water up from the beck. Then it came back — forty paces to the left of where it had been, in ground nobody had ever seen wet. The moor families moved the stones and the cup and the little shrine across to it, and have never discussed it since, in my hearing or, I would guess, in anybody's.\n\nA spring on open heath, coming up cold out of nothing, in the middle of a moor that is sour for four miles in every direction.\n\nIt tastes of iron and it stains the stones orange and there is not a person on this moor who will drink from anywhere else.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-190,-116", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -190, "z": -116, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "sweetwell" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.935758+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "7dfcda62-b1cd-400d-a152-cfa736f1b9f1", "slug": "place-last-tree", "category": "places", "title": "The Last Tree", "summary": "One pine, bent double downwind, and past it there is not another as far as anybody has bothered to walk.", "body": "One pine, bent double downwind, and past it there is not another as far as anybody has bothered to walk.\n\nOne pine on the north-west shoulder of the Tarnwild, bent double downwind, and beyond it no tree at all for as far as anybody has troubled to walk. It is not the edge of the wood; the wood gave up two miles back. It is the edge of trees, which is a different border and one you can feel standing at. There is a strip of cloth tied to it, and under that knot are older knots, and under those the bark has grown over cloth entirely. Nobody set that going. Everyone who gets this far seems to arrive at it on their own.\n\nOne pine, bent double downwind, and past it there is not another as far as anybody has bothered to walk.\n\nIt isn't the edge of the wood. It's the edge of trees. There is a difference and you can feel it standing here.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-296,-138", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -296, "z": -138, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "last-tree" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.935758+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "ca0035aa-765f-41b3-8bcf-b71f1d558f5c", "slug": "place-the-bield", "category": "places", "title": "The Bield", "summary": "Four short walls in a cross, no roof, out where there is nothing else whatsoever. However it's blowing, one arm of it is out of the wind.", "body": "Four short walls in a cross, no roof, out where there is nothing else whatsoever. However it's blowing, one arm of it is out of the wind.\n\nA bield is four short walls built in a cross, no roof, out on ground with nothing else on it, so that whichever way the weather is coming one arm of it is out of the wind. Built for sheep. Used by sheep. Used twice by me, and I would not have come off this fell either time without it. Nobody owns it and nobody maintains it, and the stones that come off get put back by whoever is next past. It is the furthest thing from a house I have ever been grateful to, and I have been very grateful indeed.\n\nFour short walls in a cross, no roof, out where there is nothing else whatsoever. However it's blowing, one arm of it is out of the wind.\n\nBuilt for sheep. Used by sheep. Used by me, twice, and I would not have got down off this fell either time without it.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-248,-234", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -248, "z": -234, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "the-bield" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.935758+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "14bf4d14-0dbe-421b-bc37-20c83b9e5db9", "slug": "place-pipers-cairn", "category": "places", "title": "The Piper's Cairn", "summary": "A cairn on a moor with no view and no path to it. Somebody died on this exact spot, and somebody else knew exactly where.", "body": "A cairn on a moor with no view and no path to it. Somebody died on this exact spot, and somebody else knew exactly where.\n\nA cairn on open moor with no view, no path and nothing to mark but the spot itself — which means somebody died exactly there, and somebody else knew exactly where. They call him the piper. Nobody can tell me what he played, or when, or whether there was ever a man at all. It takes a stone from whoever passes, the same as the Hawkstone up on the March, and the difference between the two is the whole of it: up there you are proving you got that far. Out here you are apologising, on everybody's behalf, for not knowing who he was.\n\nA cairn on a moor with no view and no path to it. Somebody died on this exact spot, and somebody else knew exactly where.\n\nThey call him the piper. Nobody can tell me what he played, or when, or whether he was ever anybody at all.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-176,-196", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -176, "z": -196, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "pipers-cairn" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.935758+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "66e109d2-6664-4b24-a2e9-370a97eb7a7a", "slug": "place-peat-cuttings", "category": "places", "title": "The Peat Cuttings", "summary": "Every house on the moor has a right to a strip, every strip is marked with a stick, and nobody has ever moved a stick.", "body": "Every house on the moor has a right to a strip, every strip is marked with a stick, and nobody has ever moved a stick.\n\nEvery house on the moor holds the right to cut one strip of peat, every strip is marked at each end with a stick, and no stick has ever been moved — which is remarkable in a valley that has spent sixty years arguing about one boundary stone in a barley field. Cut in May, stood in June, carried in August, burnt from November: you can date a year off the cuttings more reliably than off any calendar anybody has shown me. The face is eight feet down now. What you are burning is a wood that lay down and never got back up, and it burns very well.\n\nEvery house on the moor has a right to a strip, every strip is marked with a stick, and nobody has ever moved a stick.\n\nCut in May, stood in June, carried in August, burnt from November. You can set a year by that more reliably than by any calendar I've been shown.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-108,-160", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -108, "z": -160, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "peat-cuttings" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.935758+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "534c6058-f154-469a-813f-36c357ae9edf", "slug": "place-hollowmoor-stones", "category": "places", "title": "The Nine", "summary": "Nine of them, dragged eight miles from a bed out west. That's the only hard fact anybody has, and it's a monstrous one.", "body": "Nine of them, dragged eight miles from a bed out west. That's the only hard fact anybody has, and it's a monstrous one.\n\nNine stones in a ring on open heath, the tallest a little over a man, all of them dragged from a bed of rock eight miles west — which is the only hard fact anybody has, and it is a monstrous one when you stand there and imagine doing it. They are not aligned to the sunrise. People have checked, hopefully, for a century. They are not aligned to anything anyone has found. There are nine, and there is a gap on the north side wide enough for a tenth, and the ground in the gap has never been dug because the moor families will not have it disturbed. Whatever the stones were for, the last person who knew took it with them, and that is the ordinary end of almost everything. We just do not usually have to look at it.\n\nNine of them, dragged eight miles from a bed out west. That's the only hard fact anybody has, and it's a monstrous one.\n\nThey aren't aligned to the sunrise. People have checked, hopefully, for a hundred years.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-140,-126", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -140, "z": -126, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "hollowmoor-stones" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.935758+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "4270e6a6-ab05-4cf0-b55c-25ee4f7c1b33", "slug": "place-thistlebeck-bridge", "category": "places", "title": "The Thistlebeck", "summary": "There was a toll here a hundred and forty years. Then the family died out and nobody could work out who to pay.", "body": "There was a toll here a hundred and forty years. Then the family died out and nobody could work out who to pay.\n\nThere was a toll on this bridge for a hundred and forty years, and then the family that held the right died out, and the toll simply stopped, because no one could work out who to pay. The little house is still there with its shutter. People leave things on the sill — a coin, a nail, a heel of bread. Not out of fear. Out of the same instinct that makes you thank a door you have caught for somebody. A hundred and forty years is long enough to teach a road a habit.\n\nThere was a toll here a hundred and forty years. Then the family died out and nobody could work out who to pay.\n\nPeople still leave a coin on the sill. Not out of fear — out of the instinct that makes you thank a door somebody held.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-122,-111", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -122, "z": -111, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "thistlebeck-bridge" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.935758+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "f39c64e9-441c-477a-bee5-fedd72989dd6", "slug": "place-duskpool", "category": "places", "title": "Duskpool", "summary": "Lantern's lit. Somebody's been down here before us and gone.", "body": "Lantern's lit. Somebody's been down here before us and gone.\n\nThere is a hook on the alder at the water's edge, and most nights there is a lantern on the hook. Nobody in the Green will say they hang it. They will say it has always been hung, which is a different sentence and they know it. The story is that a girl waited here for a man off the north road, and kept a light going for him, and got old at it. The kinder version is that somebody simply decided a black pool on a dark road wanted a light, and their children carried on. I have sung both. The second one empties the room slower.\n\nLantern's lit. Somebody's been down here before us and gone.\n\nBlack water takes a voice and gives you back about half of it. Suits this one.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-66,6", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -66, "z": 6, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "duskpool" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.935758+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "aff11f3f-b5e9-407b-9b06-e3d018846cbb", "slug": "place-wolfpine-camp", "category": "places", "title": "Wolfpine Camp", "summary": "The ring's never quite cold. That isn't a ghost. That's a hundred and fifty miles of empty with one decent spot in it.", "body": "The ring's never quite cold. That isn't a ghost. That's a hundred and fifty miles of empty with one decent spot in it.\n\nThere has been a fire ring in this clearing for longer than the villages have been down the hill, and it is never quite cold. That is not a ghost. That is a hundred and fifty miles of empty country with one decent sheltered spot in it, and everyone crossing agreeing without ever having met that you leave dry wood stacked and you leave the ring clean. I have arrived here shaking and found kindling under a stone, put there by a person I will never meet, for a person they would never meet. If you want to know what I think holds a country together, it is not the roads.\n\nThe ring's never quite cold. That isn't a ghost. That's a hundred and fifty miles of empty with one decent spot in it.\n\nI've come in here shaking and found dry kindling under a stone, left by somebody I'll never meet, for somebody they'd never meet.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-272,-6", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -272, "z": -6, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "wolfpine-camp" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.935758+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "7f9e1c9e-04d2-4f25-b343-15782429c27b", "slug": "place-tarnwild-edge", "category": "places", "title": "The Tarnwild", "summary": "The tarns look like ink and they're perfectly clear. Peat under, no weed in, nothing for the light to come back off.", "body": "The tarns look like ink and they're perfectly clear. Peat under, no weed in, nothing for the light to come back off.\n\nThe tarns out here look like ink and are perfectly clear; it is peat under them and no weed in them, so there is nothing for the light to come back off. That is the whole of the mystery and it does not help at all when you are standing over one. Nothing lives in them worth the catching. The pines come right to the edge and lean, and the wind up there sounds like a room of people two valleys away. West of anywhere a sensible person has business being, they say in the villages, and they are right, and I keep coming anyway.\n\nThe tarns look like ink and they're perfectly clear. Peat under, no weed in, nothing for the light to come back off.\n\nWhich does not help at all when you're standing over one.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-238,-40", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -238, "z": -40, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "tarnwild-edge" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.935758+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "3d0e1bed-0fd6-4606-845c-6e4e086de339", "slug": "place-ashgate-watch", "category": "places", "title": "The Ashgate Watch", "summary": "A tower, a fire ring, and a stack of wood somebody keeps dry. There is no one posted here. The wood is dry.", "body": "A tower, a fire ring, and a stack of wood somebody keeps dry. There is no one posted here. The wood is dry.\n\nA tower on the ridge above the ash track with a fire ring and a stack of kept-dry wood, and nobody posted. The wood is dry. Somebody climbs up here and keeps it dry, and has been doing it long enough that the stack has a shape to it. Inside, on the stair, there is a name scratched into every course — the same name, the same hand, climbing, the letters getting worse as the courses go up. Whether that is one man over forty years or a family copying a father, I have never worked out, and I have gone up that stair with a candle more times than the view justifies.\n\nA tower, a fire ring, and a stack of wood somebody keeps dry. There is no one posted here. The wood is dry.\n\nFrom the top you can see the gap, the delve, and about forty miles of nothing. On a clear day that is worth the climb. On any other day it is not.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:238,-146", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 238, "z": -146, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "ashgate-watch" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "650f45b0-e792-4881-830f-656dc92b9b83", "slug": "place-willowpond", "category": "places", "title": "Willowpond", "summary": "Eleven willows. They count them out loud every Candlemas, with a boy sent round the far side to be sure.", "body": "Eleven willows. They count them out loud every Candlemas, with a boy sent round the far side to be sure.\n\nEleven willows round the pond, and the parish counts them every Candlemas, out loud, with a boy sent round the far side to check. It has been eleven for as long as the book goes back — willows fall and willows root and somehow the number holds. The count is not superstition, exactly. It is an excuse to walk down here in the cold together once a year and see that the water is where it was. Most rituals are that, underneath. A way of standing in a place with other people and agreeing it is still there.\n\nEleven willows. They count them out loud every Candlemas, with a boy sent round the far side to be sure.\n\nIt's ten this year. Nobody has said so out loud yet.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:88,200", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 88, "z": 200, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "willowpond" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "51a9f35d-249b-4aec-ba30-2aa7c070ce11", "slug": "place-colliers-hearth", "category": "places", "title": "The Colliers' Hearth", "summary": "Flat black circle in the leaf mould, twelve paces across. Nothing grows on it and nothing will inside a lifetime.", "body": "Flat black circle in the leaf mould, twelve paces across. Nothing grows on it and nothing will inside a lifetime.\n\nA hearth is a flat black circle twelve paces across where a charcoal stack has stood, and nothing grows on it for a lifetime after. Building the stack takes two days; burning it takes a week, and the week is spent awake, because if it takes flame you lose everything in it. They live in a turf hut alongside and sleep in shifts of two hours. Charcoal makes iron and iron makes everything, and there are three men left in this valley who can raise a stack. I sat up one night with them. I did not offer twice.\n\nFlat black circle in the leaf mould, twelve paces across. Nothing grows on it and nothing will inside a lifetime.\n\nA burn is a week without sleep. You sit up with the stack, and if you nod off it goes to flame, and a week's work is smoke.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:108,156", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 108, "z": 156, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "colliers-hearth" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "20b60bf6-0d60-41a8-be69-f981cbbf2060", "slug": "place-fenmere-edge", "category": "places", "title": "The Fenmere Edge", "summary": "Forty-one posts, and the last house at each end lights them. No fee, and no getting out of it.", "body": "Forty-one posts, and the last house at each end lights them. No fee, and no getting out of it.\n\nForty-one posts, each with an iron cup on top, and the last house on either end has the standing duty of lighting them from dusk in the wet season. There is no fee for it and no getting out of it. The house that fails to light them is not fined; it is simply never spoken of again by anyone on that road, which as punishments go is efficient and has needed using twice. Count the posts as you pass. If you get thirty-nine, you have missed two, and the ones you missed are the two that matter.\n\nForty-one posts, and the last house at each end lights them. No fee, and no getting out of it.\n\nCount them as you pass. If you get thirty-nine, you missed two, and it's the two you missed that mattered.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:208,118", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 208, "z": 118, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "fenmere-edge" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "2ccf7b48-1c6b-4e62-a3df-694e8166fe02", "slug": "place-hallowfield", "category": "places", "title": "Hallowfield", "summary": "Flat ground, a ditch that is not a field ditch, and a name that means the field of the dead in a language nobody here speaks.", "body": "Flat ground, a ditch that is not a field ditch, and a name that means the field of the dead in a language nobody here speaks.\n\nFlat ground east of the fen with a ditch across it that is not a field ditch — too deep, too straight, and going nowhere useful. The name is old and means the field of the dead in a language nobody here has spoken for centuries. The plough brings up buckles, mostly, and once in my lifetime a helmet, which went for scrap because it was good iron and the man wanted a hinge. Nobody can tell me who fought here, or when, or which side this valley was on. Both, probably. That is how it usually goes on a road that is the only road in.\n\nFlat ground, a ditch that is not a field ditch, and a name that means the field of the dead in a language nobody here speaks.\n\nThe plough turns things up. Buckles, mostly. One helmet in my lifetime, and it went for scrap, because it was iron and the man needed a hinge.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:272,146", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 272, "z": 146, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "hallowfield" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "18ee6f6f-3e11-42e2-858e-dba6a8633cb2", "slug": "place-east-gap", "category": "places", "title": "The Eastern Gap", "summary": "Valley behind you, and a great deal of nothing ahead. Every trader, army and plague we ever had came through this notch.", "body": "Valley behind you, and a great deal of nothing ahead. Every trader, army and plague we ever had came through this notch.\n\nStand in the gap and you can see the valley behind you and a great deal of nothing ahead. Every trader, army, plague and idea that ever reached us came through this notch, because there is no other door. There was a gate here once — you can find the post sockets cut in the rock, a cart's width apart. Nobody has thought it worth rebuilding in living memory. That tells you either that we have been very lucky, or that we have simply not been worth the walk.\n\nValley behind you, and a great deal of nothing ahead. Every trader, army and plague we ever had came through this notch.\n\nPost sockets cut in the rock, a cart's width apart. There was a gate here.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:298,178", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 298, "z": 178, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "east-gap" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "945e710f-0bb3-4c26-8e8a-6e0c3f095cb8", "slug": "place-farrows-try", "category": "places", "title": "Farrow's Try", "summary": "Somebody ploughed the flats. Once. Get low and you can still see the furrows — dead straight for three hundred paces, and then they stop mid-row.", "body": "Somebody ploughed the flats. Once. Get low and you can still see the furrows — dead straight for three hundred paces, and then they stop mid-row.\n\nFarrow took a lease on the flats and ploughed them, once. You can still find the furrows if you get down low: dead straight for three hundred paces and then stopped mid-row, which is a man making up his mind in the middle of a morning. There is a hearth stone, four post holes, and eleven years of unpaid rent still standing in the Wealdmoot book. Everybody laughs at Farrow. I have noticed that everybody who laughs at Farrow is standing on ground somebody else broke first, and that we do not know that man's name either.\n\nSomebody ploughed the flats. Once. Get low and you can still see the furrows — dead straight for three hundred paces, and then they stop mid-row.\n\nThere's a hearth stone, four post holes, and a lease in the Wealdmoot book with eleven years left unpaid on it.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:238,262", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 238, "z": 262, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "farrows-try" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "98f39dd0-cf29-4609-b83f-772b3121c3ed", "slug": "place-sunder-flats", "category": "places", "title": "The Sunder Flats", "summary": "All the wet in the east leaves through here. One flat wide hiss, and not a waterfall in it anywhere.", "body": "All the wet in the east leaves through here. One flat wide hiss, and not a waterfall in it anywhere.\n\nAll the wet in the east has one way out and this is it: a shallow spill across the flats, going east through the only gap the mountains left open. In a hard winter you can hear it from a mile off, a flat wide hiss with no waterfall in it anywhere. The flats are not empty because nothing will grow. They are empty because everything that grew got taken east, an inch of soil at a time, for as long as there has been a fen to drain.\n\nAll the wet in the east leaves through here. One flat wide hiss, and not a waterfall in it anywhere.\n\nIt isn't empty because nothing grows. It's empty because everything that grew went east, an inch at a time.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:248,212", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 248, "z": 212, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "sunder-flats" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "105d37ea-3632-4675-a41d-2722f2b504c5", "slug": "place-sunder-watch", "category": "places", "title": "The Sunder Watch", "summary": "Two walls and a doorway, looking east down the only road in. Somebody sat here every night for a long time.", "body": "Two walls and a doorway, looking east down the only road in. Somebody sat here every night for a long time.\n\nTwo walls and a doorway on the rise above the flats, looking east down the road from the gap. Whoever built it wanted a night's warning and had reason to. Whoever kept it did so long enough to wear the threshold down. There is a hearth in the corner that has been used within the month; nobody claims the place, nobody repairs it, and the fire ring is always clean. The men who watched from here were watching for something coming in. Whoever sits here now builds their fire on the eastern side of the wall, which means they are watching the valley.\n\nTwo walls and a doorway, looking east down the only road in. Somebody sat here every night for a long time.\n\nThere's a hearth in the corner and it has been used since. Recently, by the smell of it. Not by me.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:206,216", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 206, "z": 216, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "sunder-watch" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "da047957-9e6b-4ace-8415-ba586c4215b0", "slug": "place-fen-bell", "category": "places", "title": "The Fen Bell", "summary": "A bell on a post at the fen's edge. The rule is you ring it when the fog comes down and you keep ringing until whoever is out there is in.", "body": "A bell on a post at the fen's edge. The rule is you ring it when the fog comes down and you keep ringing until whoever is out there is in.\n\nA bell on a post at the fen's edge, rung when the fog comes down and kept ringing until whoever is out there is in. The rope lives in the house so children cannot play with it — which means that when the fog comes, the first thing anybody does is cross forty paces of open ground to fetch a rope, and forty paces in a fog like that is a real decision. Once a year they ring it for every man the fen has taken, one at a time, with the name said first. It takes most of an afternoon. I have stood through it twice and I count it among the harder things I do.\n\nA bell on a post at the fen's edge. The rule is you ring it when the fog comes down and you keep ringing until whoever is out there is in.\n\nIt has no rope. The rope is kept in the house so children can't play with it, and the house is forty paces off, and forty paces in fog is a decision.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:196,96", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 196, "z": 96, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "fen-bell" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "220c172d-8135-4c1f-bbe8-eb4b480a1285", "slug": "place-hollow-orchard", "category": "places", "title": "The Hollow Orchard", "summary": "Sixty trees and not one of them under seventy years old, and nobody under fifty left in the parish to prune them.", "body": "Sixty trees and not one of them under seventy years old, and nobody under fifty left in the parish to prune them.\n\nSixty trees in Bracken Hollow, none of them under seventy, and nobody under fifty in the parish to prune them. An old apple hollows out from the middle and goes on cropping for decades as a shell — a chimney with bark on it — and then one gale takes the lot inside a week, because they are all the same age and all equally tired. Cidergarth will give a cutting off the mother tree to anybody who will carry it here and get it into the ground. That offer has stood for four years. It is the cheapest useful thing in this valley and it is still standing unclaimed.\n\nSixty trees and not one of them under seventy years old, and nobody under fifty left in the parish to prune them.\n\nCut an old apple open and it's a chimney with bark on it. They'll bear like that for another twenty years and then go over in one gale, all of them, in the same week.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:146,50", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 146, "z": 50, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "hollow-orchard" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "71e516e6-1ef7-46bb-b774-43f4dded900c", "slug": "place-wintergreen-bank", "category": "places", "title": "Wintergreen Bank", "summary": "South-facing, hill at its back, out of the wind entirely. Green here in February. That is geography, not a miracle — and it was a miracle to people who needed one.", "body": "South-facing, hill at its back, out of the wind entirely. Green here in February. That is geography, not a miracle — and it was a miracle to people who needed one.\n\nA south-facing bank with the hill at its back, out of the wind entirely, green in February. People carried sick children up here and sat with them in the sun, sometimes for weeks, and some of them got better. The explanation is warmth, rest and clean air, and the explanation is not the point — when your child is ill you want somewhere to take them, and having somewhere to take them is itself a kind of medicine. There is a flat stone at the top worn hollow by sitting. It is the only monument on this bank and it is the right one.\n\nSouth-facing, hill at its back, out of the wind entirely. Green here in February. That is geography, not a miracle — and it was a miracle to people who needed one.\n\nThey carried sick children up this bank and sat in the sun with them. Some of them got better. Some of them were going to anyway.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:160,10", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 160, "z": 10, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "wintergreen-bank" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "218f4f67-e559-4b9a-ab30-9e13b88e6d10", "slug": "place-red-quarry", "category": "places", "title": "The Red Quarry", "summary": "Iron in the rock, rusting for an age and a half. That is all it is.", "body": "Iron in the rock, rusting for an age and a half. That is all it is.\n\nIron in the rock, rusting for an age and a half. That is all it is, and every mason in the valley will tell you so, patiently, again. The other explanation is older and shorter and involves a battle, and it survives not because anyone believes it but because it is the version that fits a tune. I have made a living off that difference for twenty years. The quarry cut the stone for the Hold, for the bridge, and for about nine hundred doorsteps, and then in one wet spring the lower workings filled and stayed filled. The water in them is still the colour of a rusted nail.\n\nIron in the rock, rusting for an age and a half. That is all it is.\n\nThe other version has a battle in it. It isn't true. It fits a tune better, and I've eaten off that difference for twenty years.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:158,-84", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 158, "z": -84, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "red-quarry" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "88e0c77d-3413-41ea-84b2-7aeadf539183", "slug": "place-long-screes", "category": "places", "title": "The Long Screes", "summary": "Half a mile of loose rock lying at the angle it wants to lie at, and every step you take goes back down a little. That is the whole experience.", "body": "Half a mile of loose rock lying at the angle it wants to lie at, and every step you take goes back down a little. That is the whole experience.\n\nHalf a mile of loose rock lying at exactly the angle loose rock lies at — which is the angle at which it is about to stop lying there. Cross high, where it has set, or cross low, where the run-out is short. Crossing the middle is how everybody learns which. Nothing grows on it: not lichen, not thrift, nothing, because nothing gets three years in one place. The one useful thing I have learned on the screes is that going down is quieter than going up, and that the quiet is not a good sign.\n\nHalf a mile of loose rock lying at the angle it wants to lie at, and every step you take goes back down a little. That is the whole experience.\n\nCross it high or cross it low. Crossing it in the middle is how you learn which.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:268,-196", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 268, "z": -196, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "long-screes" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "0fe6ff45-17ca-4f5b-b7c9-a1fd93b88340", "slug": "place-hawkstone-cairn", "category": "places", "title": "The Hawkstone Cairn", "summary": "Chest high, and it grows. Everyone who gets up here adds one.", "body": "Chest high, and it grows. Everyone who gets up here adds one.\n\nChest-high, at the highest walkable point in the valley, and it grows: everyone who gets up here adds a stone. There is no story attached, no saint, no battle, nobody buried under it — I have asked in nine villages. It is a heap of proof that people have been this far. That is the entire custom and I think it is the best one we have. Add yours from below the ridge, not from the cairn's own scree. Carrying it is the point.\n\nChest high, and it grows. Everyone who gets up here adds one.\n\nNo saint, no battle, nobody buried under it. Just proof that people came this far.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:256,-276", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 256, "z": -276, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "hawkstone-cairn" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "9a96ba99-fccc-4638-bba8-8d1f356d0088", "slug": "place-weather-cross", "category": "places", "title": "The Weather Cross", "summary": "Stone cross on the watershed, arms worn down to stumps. Rain falling this side goes to the mere. Rain falling that side goes east, and I have no idea where.", "body": "Stone cross on the watershed, arms worn down to stumps. Rain falling this side goes to the mere. Rain falling that side goes east, and I have no idea where.\n\nA stone cross on the watershed at the top of the March, arms worn down to stumps. Rain landing on the west face goes to the mere and eventually past every village in this valley; rain landing on the east face goes out through the gap and nobody here knows where. Somebody carried a cross to the highest walkable ground in the country to mark a line that cannot be seen and cannot be crossed wrongly. That is either the most useless labour ever performed in this valley or the only honest monument in it, and I change my mind about which roughly every time I come up.\n\nStone cross on the watershed, arms worn down to stumps. Rain falling this side goes to the mere. Rain falling that side goes east, and I have no idea where.\n\nHighest thing anybody ever carried up here, and they carried it to mark a line you cannot see and cannot cross wrongly.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:232,-306", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 232, "z": -306, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "weather-cross" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "dc1c94f8-2fd8-4fc9-8257-e611fad0b481", "slug": "place-anchorites-cell", "category": "places", "title": "The Anchorite's Cell", "summary": "A cave with a wall built across the front of it and a slot in the wall the width of a bowl. That is a cell. Somebody had themselves shut in here.", "body": "A cave with a wall built across the front of it and a slot in the wall the width of a bowl. That is a cell. Somebody had themselves shut in here.\n\nA cave under the crag with a drystone wall built across the mouth of it and a slot in the wall the width of a bowl. That is an anchorite's cell: somebody was walled in, on purpose, with their own consent, and fed through the slot until they died. Forty years, the story says. The bottom edge of the slot is worn smooth and rounded, which is the only part of the story I can verify, and it is the part that stops the conversation. There is a cup on the ledge inside and it is not an old cup. I do not go in. I sit outside where the light is and say hello.\n\nA cave with a wall built across the front of it and a slot in the wall the width of a bowl. That is a cell. Somebody had themselves shut in here.\n\nForty years, they say. Food in through the slot — and the slot is worn smooth along the bottom edge, so somebody was passing something through it for a very long time.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:170,-286", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 170, "z": -286, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "anchorites-cell" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "49dfa33a-6abe-42fe-91ee-f633a143c705", "slug": "place-kestrel-march", "category": "places", "title": "The Kestrel March", "summary": "A march is a border you keep soldiers on. There have never been soldiers up here.", "body": "A march is a border you keep soldiers on. There have never been soldiers up here.\n\nA march is a border you keep soldiers on. There have never been soldiers up here. The name came down from somebody's map, drawn by somebody who had not been, and it stuck the way wrong names do — because it sounded like a place that ought to exist. What is up here is bare crag, thin air, and the birds, and the birds have never had a reason to be afraid of a person, which is the loneliest fact I know about this valley. They will let you walk right up. Nothing has taught them not to.\n\nA march is a border you keep soldiers on. There have never been soldiers up here.\n\nThe birds will let you walk right up to them. Nothing has ever taught them not to.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:210,-232", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 210, "z": -232, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "kestrel-march" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "92fe9292-5199-48c9-89a6-ed2ccc399da5", "slug": "place-crowtarn", "category": "places", "title": "Crowtarn", "summary": "Wait for dusk. They come in off the whole pine country and go round the water three times.", "body": "Wait for dusk. They come in off the whole pine country and go round the water three times.\n\nThey come in at dusk from the whole of the pine country, a few thousand of them, and they go round the tarn three times before they settle. Not twice. Not once. The foresters set their evening by it. There is no reason for it that anyone can give me, and I have watched it perhaps forty times, and every time I catch myself counting along under my breath like a man checking a debt. Then they drop into the trees all at once and the wood goes quieter than it was before they came.\n\nWait for dusk. They come in off the whole pine country and go round the water three times.\n\nNot twice. Not four. I've watched forty evenings of it and I still catch myself counting along.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:92,-170", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 92, "z": -170, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "crowtarn" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "47a3811d-fb7a-49ad-8ae3-edc74317770a", "slug": "place-deadfall", "category": "places", "title": "The Deadfall", "summary": "Nine hundred trees down in one night, all lying the same way, as though something walked through here and did not stop.", "body": "Nine hundred trees down in one night, all lying the same way, as though something walked through here and did not stop.\n\nNine hundred trees went down in Greyneedle in one night, all lying the same way, in a swathe you can pick out from the March. It was wind. We know the hour of it because the priory was awake and the bell was rung and a brother wrote the hour in the weather book, which is the only thing in this valley that has kept four hundred years of nights. You do not walk the deadfall, you climb it, and it takes two hours to cross what used to take twenty minutes. The young growth coming up through it is the best in the wood. It will be a better wood than the one that fell. Not in my time, and not in yours.\n\nNine hundred trees down in one night, all lying the same way, as though something walked through here and did not stop.\n\nIt was wind. It was a very great deal of wind, at the exact hour of the exact night the priory happened to be awake — which is the only reason we have the hour.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:10,-118", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 10, "z": -118, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "deadfall" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "4878e9c9-7e5d-4f1c-b2d6-f86de5002cbb", "slug": "place-snow-gate-cottage", "category": "places", "title": "The Last Cottage", "summary": "Last cottage below the pass, and the woman in it decides the day it shuts. No office, no appointment. Her mother did it. Her daughter won't.", "body": "Last cottage below the pass, and the woman in it decides the day it shuts. No office, no appointment. Her mother did it. Her daughter won't.\n\nThe last cottage below the pass has held the decision for four generations: the woman there walks up, looks, and comes down, and the day she does not walk up again is the day the pass is shut. There is no bell, no notice and no appeal, and the whole valley reads the answer off whether her door stands open. She has been wrong once in thirty-one years — shut it four days early, on a week that turned fine — and nobody was hurt, and she has not forgiven herself, and I have watched her not forgive herself across two decades. Her mother did it. Her daughter has said she will not.\n\nLast cottage below the pass, and the woman in it decides the day it shuts. No office, no appointment. Her mother did it. Her daughter won't.\n\nShe walks up, she looks, she comes down. If she doesn't walk up the next morning, that is the answer, and the whole valley reads it off her door.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:14,-232", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 14, "z": -232, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "snow-gate-cottage" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "2d6b8a24-ec8c-476e-ba6b-535e240a56ef", "slug": "place-skarn-pass", "category": "places", "title": "Skarn Pass", "summary": "The pass shuts eleven weeks a year, and one woman decides the day it shuts.", "body": "The pass shuts eleven weeks a year, and one woman decides the day it shuts.\n\nThe pass shuts for about eleven weeks a year, and the day it shuts is decided by a woman in the last cottage below it who walks up, looks, and comes back down. There is no signal, no bell, no proclamation. She simply does not come back up again, and everyone knows what that means. When it opens, the first person through carries the post for nothing. That has been the arrangement so long that the first person through in living memory has always been a volunteer, and there has always been more than one.\n\nThe pass shuts eleven weeks a year, and one woman decides the day it shuts.\n\nNo bell, no proclamation. She simply doesn't walk back up. Everyone knows what that means.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-8,-246", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -8, "z": -246, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "skarn-pass" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "584cbae4-b291-4346-9437-9fd446996393", "slug": "place-high-snows", "category": "places", "title": "The High Snows", "summary": "It comes out of a crack the size of your hand. I stopped it with my thumb once and felt like a thief.", "body": "It comes out of a crack the size of your hand. I stopped it with my thumb once and felt like a thief.\n\nIt comes out of a crack in a rock about the size of your hand, and you can stop it with your thumb, and I have, and I felt like a thief. Sixty miles downstream it is turning three mills and drowning the occasional drover. Every river in the valley starts like this, out of snow up here that never entirely goes, in a hollow the sun reaches for about an hour in high summer. There is no shrine at the spring. There is a tin cup on a chain that somebody replaces when it wears through.\n\nIt comes out of a crack the size of your hand. I stopped it with my thumb once and felt like a thief.\n\nSixty miles down it is turning three mills and drowning the occasional drover.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-58,-296", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -58, "z": -296, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "high-snows" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "ff8a245b-fe02-4ee2-8b54-48ba58b91050", "slug": "place-whinstone-fold", "category": "places", "title": "Whinstone Fold", "summary": "A ring of drystone with one gap in it, and the gap faces away from the weather. That is four hundred years of somebody paying attention.", "body": "A ring of drystone with one gap in it, and the gap faces away from the weather. That is four hundred years of somebody paying attention.\n\nA ring of drystone on the fell with one gap in it, and the gap faces away from the prevailing wind, which is four hundred years of somebody paying attention rather than four hundred years of luck. The flock is gathered in here before the snow gate shuts and brought down in a single day. If you are late you winter on the fell with them, and men have, and two of them are still named. There is no mortar anywhere in it. It has stood through everything the fell has, because it lets the wind through instead of arguing with it.\n\nA ring of drystone with one gap in it, and the gap faces away from the weather. That is four hundred years of somebody paying attention.\n\nYou gather the flock in here before the gate shuts. If you're late you winter up here with them, and men have.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-72,-238", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -72, "z": -238, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "whinstone-fold" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "db8951f6-f197-4a0e-8883-78e184da462c", "slug": "place-sildwater-head", "category": "places", "title": "The Sildwater Head", "summary": "Same water as the crossing down south. Forty miles younger and in a considerable hurry.", "body": "Same water as the crossing down south. Forty miles younger and in a considerable hurry.\n\nThis is the same river as the drovers' crossing forty miles south, and you would not put money on it. Here it is four strides across, loud, and in a hurry, and it goes under the road through a timber culvert somebody replaces roughly once a generation. There is a mark cut in the upstream post for every man who has done the replacing — seven of them, the oldest worn to a smudge. Nobody was asked to start that and nobody has been asked to continue it.\n\nSame water as the crossing down south. Forty miles younger and in a considerable hurry.\n\nYou can hear it under the timbers. That's the whole valley leaving.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-43,-152", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -43, "z": -152, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "sildwater-head" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.875872+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "da2f3951-39c2-4006-a5e2-d4518b77d3f3", "slug": "place-sister-stones", "category": "places", "title": "The Sister Stones", "summary": "Eight standing, one on its back. The one on its back is the only one anybody ever cut anything into.", "body": "Eight standing, one on its back. The one on its back is the only one anybody ever cut anything into.\n\nNine stones on the shoulder above the Green: eight standing, one on its back, and the one on its back is the only one with anything cut into it — three shallow bowls in a line, which is either a carving or four centuries of rain finding a soft patch. They are called the Sister Stones and there are no sisters in any story anybody here tells. The name came first and the story never turned up. Children play in them, courting couples meet in them, and the parish holds nothing there at all, which after the Nine out on the moor I find restful.\n\nEight standing, one on its back. The one on its back is the only one anybody ever cut anything into.\n\nThey're called the sisters. There is no story about any sisters. There is only the word, and the word is older than the town.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:70,-52", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 70, "z": -52, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "sister-stones" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "e718c12b-ccf8-4934-bc19-a864165b66a4", "slug": "place-barleyhearth", "category": "places", "title": "Barleyhearth", "summary": "Twelve families, four hundred acres, and one very long-running argument about a hedge.", "body": "Twelve families, four hundred acres, and one very long-running argument about a hedge.\n\nEvery field here has a name and the name is a court record. Widow's Half was split in a will that took nine years to argue. Liar's Acre is where a boundary stone was moved one night in a year nobody will specify. Goodwill is the smallest and worst field in the parish, given to a neighbour as a gesture and received as an insult, and both households have been correct about that ever since. Learn the names before you drink here. You will be walking through somebody's grievance either way, but at least you will know whose.\n\nTwo coppers for the song and I'll throw in the map. — No? One copper, and you can keep your own counsel about the map.\n\nEvery field here has a name and every name is a lawsuit.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-98,58", "tags": [ "map", "village", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -98, "z": 58, "kind": "village", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "barleyhearth" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "29209e0f-bcef-4227-85db-afb631c831f5", "slug": "place-wealdmoot-market", "category": "places", "title": "Wealdmoot", "summary": "The only place in the valley with a market, a magistrate, and an opinion about both.", "body": "The only place in the valley with a market, a magistrate, and an opinion about both.\n\nFrom the bell at dawn to the bell at dusk, on market days, the peace holds inside the square: no debt called in, no summons served, no blow struck. It is older than the magistrate and it is enforced by everyone at once, which is the only enforcement that has ever worked anywhere. The practical effect is that people who cannot be in a room together can be in a market together, twice a month, and buy each other's eggs without speaking. Half the marriages in this valley began with somebody's arm not being taken hold of.\n\nOnly market in the valley, and everything on it came from somewhere I've walked. I could tell you which stall lies. Not standing in the middle of it.\n\nStand near the pie and play. That is the entire craft. Everything else I might tell you about this trade is decoration.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:4,42", "tags": [ "map", "town", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 4, "z": 42, "kind": "town", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "wealdmoot-market" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "6e8fc6cb-f9e3-4f77-b1c3-ce8c97093262", "slug": "place-bracken-hollow", "category": "places", "title": "Bracken Keep", "summary": "Somebody held this hollow once. Nobody local will say against whom.", "body": "Somebody held this hollow once. Nobody local will say against whom.\n\nBracken Hollow is a fortnight ahead of the rest of the valley and a fortnight behind it letting go — the first green and the last leaf, every year, without fail. It is only a dip in the land with a hill on the cold side, which is a dull explanation for a place people used to bring sick children. The bracken gets waist-high by midsummer and hides everything: paths, walls, sheep, the occasional traveller who sat down for a moment. Shout before you cut through. It is polite, and it is also practical.\n\nFirst green in the valley and the last leaf to let go. It's only a dip with a hill on the cold side.\n\nShout before you cut through the bracken. It's polite, and it's also practical.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:118,28", "tags": [ "map", "ruin", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 118, "z": 28, "kind": "ruin", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "bracken-hollow" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "caf98b8c-8973-4e55-872b-930beea6b239", "slug": "place-hearthwick", "category": "places", "title": "Hearthwick", "summary": "One farm, one well, and that well is the only one on this road that did not go dry in the bad four years.", "body": "One farm, one well, and that well is the only one on this road that did not go dry in the bad four years.\n\nHearthwick is one farm on the north road with the deepest well in the parish, and in the four dry years it was the only well on this road that held. The family drew for everybody, all summer, for nothing, and would not be paid, and were not thanked in words because the thing was too large for words and everyone understood that. There is still a lid on the well, a cup beside it, and no gate on the lane. I asked once why they never charged. They looked at me the way you would look at a man asking why the sky.\n\nOne farm, one well, and that well is the only one on this road that did not go dry in the bad four years.\n\nThere's a lid on it and a cup beside it and they have never charged anybody a thing. I asked why once. They looked at me the way you'd look at a man asking why the sky.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-66,112", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -66, "z": 112, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "hearthwick" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "06087de3-b4cf-417d-b68b-b9934097c39e", "slug": "place-oxleaze", "category": "places", "title": "Oxleaze", "summary": "Ox pasture, and there hasn't been an ox in it since before I started walking. They kept the name and sold the beasts, in that order.", "body": "Ox pasture, and there hasn't been an ox in it since before I started walking. They kept the name and sold the beasts, in that order.\n\nOxleaze kept eight oxen when everyone else had gone to horses, on the argument that an ox eats grass and a horse eats corn and corn is money. The argument was right, and then it stopped being right inside a decade, and the team was sold in one morning to a dealer from the east. There is a bare ring by the gate where they stood to be yoked and the grass has not taken it back in twenty years. The old man can still name all eight. He will, if you let the silence run long enough, and then he changes the subject himself.\n\nOx pasture, and there hasn't been an ox in it since before I started walking. They kept the name and sold the beasts, in that order.\n\nSee the bare ring by the gate, where the team used to stand and wait? Grass still won't take it back.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-124,14", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -124, "z": 14, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "oxleaze" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "a9fbe262-bf81-43e2-aec1-f547ee6df525", "slug": "place-crowfoot", "category": "places", "title": "Crowfoot Gate", "summary": "Barn's newer than the house and twice the size of it. You can read a family's priorities off a yard in about four seconds.", "body": "Barn's newer than the house and twice the size of it. You can read a family's priorities off a yard in about four seconds.\n\nThree generations of Crowfoots have farmed this ground on a lease of ninety-nine years, and there are nine years left on it. The land belongs to a family four days east who have not sent anybody to look at it since the old man's father was a boy. They will renew. Everybody says they will renew. The new barn went up two summers ago — good timber, forty pounds of somebody's savings — and you do not build a barn like that if you think you are leaving. You build it to make leaving unthinkable to a stranger with a ledger.\n\nBarn's newer than the house and twice the size of it. You can read a family's priorities off a yard in about four seconds.\n\nThey won't ask me in. They bring the bread out to the gate and stand there while I eat it, which is a different kindness, and I'll take it.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:96,-18", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 96, "z": -18, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "crowfoot" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "49f28db0-1d36-4145-aa72-987cca512f93", "slug": "place-ashcroft", "category": "places", "title": "Ashcroft", "summary": "Four walls, no roof, and an apple tree in what used to be the yard still doing its job every autumn for nobody at all.", "body": "Four walls, no roof, and an apple tree in what used to be the yard still doing its job every autumn for nobody at all.\n\nAshcroft burned thirty years ago in the night and nobody died, which is the first thing anyone tells you, and the way they tell it is odd. What happened afterwards is odder. The family left the valley, the land was never ploughed again, and the well was filled in with stone — deliberately, by somebody, and no one will say who or why. A well is a year of a man's work. You do not fill one in for tidiness. Four walls, no roof, and an apple tree in the yard still cropping every autumn for nobody. I have asked in six villages and been kindly not answered in all six.\n\nFour walls, no roof, and an apple tree in what used to be the yard still doing its job every autumn for nobody at all.\n\nFire was thirty years back. The well was filled in afterwards, with stone, deliberately, and that is the part nobody will explain to me.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-146,36", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -146, "z": 36, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "ashcroft" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "aaafc3dc-ce29-4140-9968-f431ec6061da", "slug": "place-mirrormere-shore", "category": "places", "title": "The North Shallows", "summary": "Water carries a voice better than any hall I've sung in.", "body": "Water carries a voice better than any hall I've sung in.\n\nIn a dry autumn the mere pulls back off the north shallows and you can see a lane down there — proper hedged lane, two ruts, running out into the water and not coming up on the far side. The mere is younger than the road. Something moved, or something was dammed, and a valley's worth of walking became a fishery in a single wet decade. They still call the water over it Long Lane, and the fishers will not set a net across the line of it, and if you ask why they will look at you as if you had asked why one does not shout in a church.\n\nWater carries a voice better than any hall I've sung in.\n\nIt's low this year. Low enough to see the lane. That happens twice in a life.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-176,40", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -176, "z": 40, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "mirrormere-shore" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "9b22229b-21c0-4a6e-a3ed-f2d17f5f4f6c", "slug": "place-westward-mile", "category": "places", "title": "The Last Milestone", "summary": "Eleven miles, it says. It doesn't say to what.", "body": "Eleven miles, it says. It doesn't say to what.\n\nThe stone says eleven miles, and it does not say to where. The road it counted stops in bracken two hundred paces on, and there is no sign it ever meant to stop. Either it was abandoned mid-work, or the eleven miles were somewhere that is no longer eleven miles away. I put my hand on it every time I come out here, which is a foolish habit for a grown man, and I do it because somebody carried this thing to the edge of the map and set it down facing outward.\n\nEleven miles, it says. It doesn't say to what.\n\nRoad gives out in the bracken two hundred paces on. Doesn't taper. Just stops.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-288,96", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -288, "z": 96, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "westward-mile" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "0231419b-6771-4322-9d34-be1efe139956", "slug": "place-underlyme", "category": "places", "title": "Underlyme", "summary": "Low water this year. Those are gable ends you're looking at, not rocks. Count them if you like. Everybody does it once.", "body": "Low water this year. Those are gable ends you're looking at, not rocks. Count them if you like. Everybody does it once.\n\nUnderlyme is under the mere on the west side, and in a dry autumn you can see it: gable ends, a run of walling, the stump of a tower. It did not drown in a night. The water came up over about forty years and the village went with it house by house, and they carried the doors and the window frames and the roof timbers out as they went — which is why there is not a scrap of worked wood down there, and why the story that it drowned in one night with everybody in it is nonsense, and why that is the only version anybody sings. Slow is very hard to make a song out of.\n\nLow water this year. Those are gable ends you're looking at, not rocks. Count them if you like. Everybody does it once.\n\nIt drowned slowly enough that they carried the doors out with them. There isn't a door down there. Go and look.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-232,168", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -232, "z": 168, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "underlyme" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "61196619-cb15-4404-98b4-512196391782", "slug": "place-low-strand", "category": "places", "title": "The Low Strand", "summary": "Everything the mere takes washes up on this corner eventually. Oars. Hats. A whole door, once.", "body": "Everything the mere takes washes up on this corner eventually. Oars. Hats. A whole door, once.\n\nEverything the mere takes comes ashore on this low corner eventually — oars, hats, the odd boat, once a whole door. There is a rule about it that nobody wrote down: you may keep what you find, but you must leave it out on the shingle one full night first, in case it is being looked for. Half the houses along here are furnished out of that one night's grace. I have never seen anyone break the rule and I have never met anyone who came back for anything.\n\nEverything the mere takes washes up on this corner eventually. Oars. Hats. A whole door, once.\n\nYou may keep what you find. But it lies out on the shingle one night first, in case it's being looked for.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-208,258", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -208, "z": 258, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "low-strand" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "eda634ae-d2ea-402b-b45a-97388f5f1f86", "slug": "place-ninefoot-wreck", "category": "places", "title": "The Ninefoot", "summary": "Nine feet of boat up on the shingle with her ribs showing, like something that lay down on purpose.", "body": "Nine feet of boat up on the shingle with her ribs showing, like something that lay down on purpose.\n\nNine feet of clinker-built boat up on the shingle south of the quay, ribs open to the sky, older than any man who could tell you her name. Every spring somebody tars the stem. Not the strakes, not the keel — the stem, which is the one piece that was never going to rot anyway. That is the whole of the custom, and nobody at the quay will admit to being the one who does it. There is a name on the transom you can read in a low sun from exactly one angle, and I know it, and I have decided not to write it anywhere.\n\nNine feet of boat up on the shingle with her ribs showing, like something that lay down on purpose.\n\nShe has been here longer than the oldest man who can name her. Somebody tars the stem every spring. Only the stem.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-190,230", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -190, "z": 230, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "ninefoot-wreck" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "520d00cd-804b-4841-b297-d7072c9c5428", "slug": "place-mother-of-apples", "category": "places", "title": "The Mother of Apples", "summary": "One tree. Nine hundred acres wide, if you count it honestly.", "body": "One tree. Nine hundred acres wide, if you count it honestly.\n\nThe tree behind the shrine is not the oldest tree here, it is the *first* — every orchard in the garth is cut from it, and cut from cuttings of it, so in the way that matters there is one apple tree in this region and it is nine hundred acres wide. It is propped now. Three posts and a leather strap and a woman paid out of parish funds to keep the rot out of it. She has the only job in the valley with no retirement, because you do not hand that over lightly, and she is training her sister's girl already.\n\nOne tree. Nine hundred acres wide, if you count it honestly.\n\nThree posts and a leather strap holding up the grandmother of every orchard in the garth.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-80,246", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -80, "z": 246, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "mother-of-apples" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "6e35902c-8f83-47a0-999f-b75ee6abf805", "slug": "place-appleyard", "category": "places", "title": "Appleyard", "summary": "Windfalls belong to whoever picks them up. Everything still on the tree belongs to the man who owns the tree. That is the whole of orchard law and it has never needed a second line.", "body": "Windfalls belong to whoever picks them up. Everything still on the tree belongs to the man who owns the tree. That is the whole of orchard law and it has never needed a second line.\n\nFruit on the tree belongs to whoever owns the tree. Fruit on the ground belongs to whoever picks it up. That is the whole of orchard law here and it has never needed a second clause. It is why there are people in the orchards before light after a gale, and why nobody calls that theft. It also explains the one thing outsiders always get wrong: shaking a tree is stealing. Everybody here can tell a shaken tree from a blown one at a glance, and nobody has ever had to prove the difference in front of the magistrate, because nobody has ever tried it twice.\n\nWindfalls belong to whoever picks them up. Everything still on the tree belongs to the man who owns the tree. That is the whole of orchard law and it has never needed a second line.\n\nWhich is why you'll see people out here before light after a gale. That's not theft. That's weather.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-20,248", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -20, "z": 248, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "appleyard" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "caeee7ab-9e70-48fd-9b27-0b041bedecbc", "slug": "place-fairy-ring", "category": "places", "title": "Ganger's Ring", "summary": "A ring of mushrooms forty paces across, in the same meadow it was in when I was young and about six paces further north.", "body": "A ring of mushrooms forty paces across, in the same meadow it was in when I was young and about six paces further north.\n\nA ring of mushrooms in the meadow below Elderloom, forty paces across, and moving — north, about a hand's width a year, which over a life is enough to notice and not enough to argue about. It is one organism, growing outward from a stump that rotted before this parish had a name, and the ring is simply the edge of it. I have explained that to people. They nod, and agree entirely, and then walk around it. So do I. Knowing what a thing is turns out to be a completely separate question from wanting to stand in the middle of it.\n\nA ring of mushrooms forty paces across, in the same meadow it was in when I was young and about six paces further north.\n\nIt's one fungus. One. Growing outward from a dead stump since before the parish had a name, and the ring is only where it has got to.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:24,224", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 24, "z": 224, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "fairy-ring" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "387261c0-6af8-4b52-8328-b3f289c8938f", "slug": "place-deer-leap", "category": "places", "title": "The Deer Leap", "summary": "Bank on one side, ditch on the other. A deer can come in over it. A deer cannot get back out over it.", "body": "Bank on one side, ditch on the other. A deer can come in over it. A deer cannot get back out over it.\n\nA bank with the ditch on the inside, running eleven miles round what was once somebody's deer park. The shape is cruel and elegant: a deer can jump down into the park and cannot jump back out of it, so the park fills and never empties. There is no house left, no family left, and no record of who was granted the right. There are still deer, and there has been no park for five hundred years, so the deer are simply deer now and the bank is simply a bank. Everything anybody builds ends up being about something else.\n\nBank on one side, ditch on the other. A deer can come in over it. A deer cannot get back out over it.\n\nSomebody's park, five hundred years ago. No house left, no family left, and eleven miles of earth bank that will outlast the road.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:30,168", "tags": [ "map", "landmark", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 30, "z": 168, "kind": "landmark", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "deer-leap" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "53168ff8-a2ed-46e0-a275-8f775c415cac", "slug": "place-hollowmoor-camp", "category": "places", "title": "The Hollowmoor Camp", "summary": "Fires that go out whenever anyone comes up the road, and go straight back on after.", "body": "Fires that go out whenever anyone comes up the road, and go straight back on after.\n\nThe fires at the Hollowmoor camp go out when anybody comes up the road, and are relit the moment they have gone again. Nobody there will tell you where they are from, and everybody there will feed you, and those two facts belong to each other. It is not a lawless place. It has more rules than Wealdmoot has, and unlike Wealdmoot's they are not written anywhere a magistrate could read them. I play there and I take nothing, and that has been the arrangement since my first year — when I did take something, and did not sleep afterwards, and have never been able to explain to anyone why.\n\nFires go out when anyone comes up the road, and they go back on after. I've never had to knock. They simply decide.\n\nNobody here will tell you where they're from and everybody here will feed you. Work out what that costs them before you take it twice.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-132,-178", "tags": [ "map", "camp", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -132, "z": -178, "kind": "camp", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "hollowmoor-camp" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "261bc525-eff7-427f-8d92-eb9acfd2b562", "slug": "place-the-delve", "category": "places", "title": "Ashenreach Delve", "summary": "Red stone comes out, water goes in, and the pit has been winning since the old king died.", "body": "Red stone comes out, water goes in, and the pit has been winning since the old king died.\n\nThe Delve cuts red stone and has been losing to water since the old king died. Below the third gallery there is ore — good ore, by the look and the weight of it — and it will not weld: it comes out of the fire short and cracks under the hammer, and the best smith in the valley broke four hammers proving that to his own satisfaction. So they cut building stone instead, which pays a third as well, and every man at the Delve is owed wages by somebody who is himself owed wages. It has gone on so long that they have stopped calling it a debt. They call it the delve.\n\nRed stone out, water in, and the pit has been winning since the old king died. They still cut. It's what the hands know how to do.\n\nThere's ore in the bottom galleries. Good ore. It will not weld. The best smith in this valley has broken four hammers proving that to himself.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:196,-108", "tags": [ "map", "industry", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 196, "z": -108, "kind": "industry", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "the-delve" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "32352a4f-e224-4ec1-8aff-b002fb2c27b2", "slug": "place-greyneedle-wood", "category": "places", "title": "Greyneedle Priory", "summary": "Nine brothers, one bell, and a rule of silence they keep about as well as anyone would.", "body": "Nine brothers, one bell, and a rule of silence they keep about as well as anyone would.\n\nThere is a good hand's depth of dead needles over everything in Greyneedle, and it takes the path with it — you cannot see the road, only a long low channel where nothing has grown for two hundred years. Walk it and you make no sound at all. That is pleasant for the first mile. In the second mile most people start humming, and by the third they are singing whether or not they can, and I have met three separate men who swore they were being followed and were in fact simply not able to hear themselves being alone.\n\nA hand's depth of needles over everything. You'll make no sound at all in here.\n\nThat's pleasant for the first mile. In the second mile most people start humming.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:58,-168", "tags": [ "map", "holy", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 58, "z": -168, "kind": "holy", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "greyneedle-wood" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "d3475ffa-e55e-438c-9ab7-99372714172e", "slug": "place-sedge-cut", "category": "places", "title": "Fenreed", "summary": "Built on the only firm ground for a mile, and they check that it still is every spring.", "body": "Built on the only firm ground for a mile, and they check that it still is every spring.\n\nReed is cut in winter, standing in water, ideally on ice, and everything a cutter owns is wet from December to March. It is worked in strips on a four-year turn — cut one, leave three — and a strip that gets missed is closed by the fen and gone for good. A well-laid reed roof outlasts the thatcher who laid it by thirty years, which is a fact thatchers do not enjoy and reed cutters mention constantly. Fenreed roofs half this valley off eleven acres of standing water that nobody owns and everybody's grandfather agreed about.\n\nCut in winter, on the ice if you're lucky, and everything you own is wet from December to March.\n\nReed off this cut roofs half the valley and outlives the man who laid it by thirty years. Ask a thatcher how he feels about that. Then stand back.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:156,136", "tags": [ "map", "hamlet", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 156, "z": 136, "kind": "hamlet", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "sedge-cut" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "b6e8de92-2a04-4de2-a810-717509ea8853", "slug": "place-elderloom-hall", "category": "places", "title": "Elderloom Stile", "summary": "Four houses under the canopy, and everyone here is somebody's cousin.", "body": "Four houses under the canopy, and everyone here is somebody's cousin.\n\nShout in Elderloom and the wood gives it back to you a beat late and a note low, which is what a close canopy does to a sound and is not, on its own, remarkable. What unsettles people is that it gives back things they are certain they did not say. The wood has a fair collection by now: a name, a laugh, somebody counting. My own theory is that a hundred generations of travellers have shouted into these trees and the trees have simply got very good at it. I would rather that were true, so I have stopped testing it.\n\nThe canopy shuts over the road here. Sing into it and it hands you back something you're fairly sure you didn't say.\n\nGood acoustics. Poor company. I'll take the trade.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:56,204", "tags": [ "map", "hamlet", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 56, "z": 204, "kind": "hamlet", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "elderloom-hall" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "d995f2a5-3e0e-4d2d-aaeb-1294fe86cd01", "slug": "place-saltmere-strand", "category": "places", "title": "Fishtopia", "summary": "Nets on every fence, and a lamp kept burning for boats that stopped coming years ago.", "body": "Nets on every fence, and a lamp kept burning for boats that stopped coming years ago.\n\nIt is fresh water. Everything that lives in it is a freshwater thing. And still, after a hard blow out of the west, there is salt crusted on the rocks at the strand, and you can scrape it and cook with it and it is perfectly good salt. Four hundred years of people have proposed an underground sea, an old wound in the rock, and a curse, in roughly that order of respectability. The strand has stopped caring which. They sell it by the pint and they let you have your theory for free.\n\nSalt on the rocks and fresh water under them. Four hundred years of shrugging.\n\nI'll buy a pint of it here and sell it in the hills for four times the money. That's the whole trade, and I'm not ashamed of it.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-150,182", "tags": [ "map", "port", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -150, "z": 182, "kind": "port", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "saltmere-strand" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 1, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "e68536ea-afa3-4d2a-9828-1ca090fc7ce5", "slug": "place-skarnfoot", "category": "places", "title": "Skarnfoot", "summary": "Last roof before the pass, and they will tell you so before you have your cloak off.", "body": "Last roof before the pass, and they will tell you so before you have your cloak off.\n\nSkarnfoot exists because of eleven weeks. For eleven weeks a year the pass is shut, the road ends here, and everybody who arrives has to stop — so the village keeps beds, feed, a forge and a great deal of opinion, and prices all of it for a man who must decide within the hour whether he is going over. It is not gouging. It stands close enough to gouging that they have developed several very good ways of describing it. And not one person born in Skarnfoot has ever crossed the pass. Ask them. They find the question funny, and then they find it less funny.\n\nLast roof before the pass, and they'll tell you so before you have your cloak off.\n\nEverything here is priced for a man who has to decide, right now, whether he is going over. That is not gouging. It is standing very close to it.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:8,-190", "tags": [ "map", "village", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": 8, "z": -190, "kind": "village", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "skarnfoot" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "78f13153-431b-4c79-83f9-3253378b32e0", "slug": "place-cidergarth", "category": "places", "title": "Cidergarth", "summary": "They press in October and are insufferable about it until March.", "body": "They press in October and are insufferable about it until March.\n\nOne spring the frost came late and took the blossom off everything, and the garth had no apples and no cider and no money coming. So they opened the deep casks — the black cider, the stuff kept back for weddings and wakes and nothing else — and they drank the reserve of forty years in a single summer, on the grounds that they were going to lose it all anyway. The trees came back the next year. The casks did not. Every old family here still owes every other old family a barrel, and every one of them will tell you so before you finish your first cup.\n\nCareful with the black stuff. One measure settles an argument. Two starts a better one.\n\nThey drank forty years of reserve in a single summer, and the trees came back anyway, which taught them nothing.", "locationKey": "pixelgrew:-57,212", "tags": [ "map", "village", "pixelgrew" ], "meta": { "x": -57, "z": 212, "kind": "village", "source": "map_places", "mapPlaceId": "cidergarth" }, "imageUrl": null, "votes": 0, "author": "Punaab", "createdAt": "2026-07-29T05:22:39.789265+00:00", "isHub": false }, { "id": "d6e905af-6568-40d3-ac0c-de1fd21e78d8", "slug": "punaab", "category": "characters", "title": "Punaab the Traveling Bard", "summary": "Smart traveling bard — hub of the community lore graph.", "body": "The wandering bard at the centre of the valley's tales. 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