Sangfielle 35: Marrow in the Field

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The word went out to every worker on board the Jade Moon, and was passed to any passengers moving about the cabins: Stay inside. This was not the normal call to remain indoors during the ninth through eleventh days of the journey northward up the Ojan. No, this was something special. After all, as far as the captain and crew could tell, they weren’t even on the Ojan anymore. This was somewhere else. This was Marrowcreek.

This week on Sangfielle: Marrow in the Field

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Opening[edit | edit source]

Now, I am not what you might call a stickler for rules. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a good copyedit, and I understand that mutually agreed upon accords are oft designed to push us towards becoming our better angels. But I am a fan of leeway in the little things and living life in a sort of ad hoc way, you know? Sometimes you need to walk on the lawn, and I can think of a great many meals that were improved by eating with my hands instead of lifting up silverware. The point is that circumstances are more important than axioms. Or maybe said more completely: the stronger the rule being written, the more perfect one’s understanding of the situation needs to be, and perfect understanding is a rare thing. In fact, I can count on a single hand the number of categories of near perfect understanding that exist in life on the Heartland. First, in my experience, a person knows the tune of their own body in a way that even the greatest doctors of Sangfielle can only gesture at. Now, I'm not saying that I want to write all my own prescriptions or that I refuse to take my medicine before I say my prayer to Slumbous at night. But I am saying that I had it real bad in the gut once, and my doctor, well, she did not accept my account of the pain that I was in. So, number one: bodies and the havers thereof. Now, two, three, and four is easy: trains, guns, and horses. I defer to expertise. I'm not trying to cross anything that can kill me so swiftly. So I don't know, you go ahead. You tell me them rules; I’ll keep ’em. Fifth, well: my house, my rules. I know it's a cliche spoken too often by parents slow on time, patience, or confidence, but the fact of it is, you live or work in a place long enough, and it gets into you. You can feel the termites in the walls, the pipes aching, ready to leak. So when I'm in someone else's abode or factory or riverboat, I listen to them. Maybe Hazard, Lye Lychen, and the Cleaver Chine should have done the same.

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