Wardrobe

Villager: Rowan

There's a garden, here, small and tentatively green against the snow blanketing the mountains most of the year. Leaves and thin stalks curling delicately out of the ground, tipped with frost but growing nonetheless. Some of them are familiar - snowdrops, hellebore, ivy, holly - and some of them are completely new, like the tiny yellow flowers that seem to glow faintly. But they grow, slowly, quietly, clearly well taken care of despite the harsh environment. Tender green stalks shooting out of the snow, small trees with bright ribbons tied to their branches, hardy bushes lining a stream of freezing cold water.

And then there's the greenhouse, smack in the middle of all of it, a rounded dome of glass that almost glows with how green the inside of it is. The plants inside bear fruit all year round, peaches, pears, sour cherries, plums, and many, many different kind of apples. There's vegetables too, and spices, and many of the medicinal plants from all over the world, sheltered from the cold by a wall of glass, bathed in light.

Rowan, if you go looking for him, will usually be found tending to his garden. When there's nothing left to do, he will sit in front of the greenhouse, in the cold winter sun, with a cup of tea, watching his plants grow with affection and pride. He is warm, friendly and welcoming, and anyone who knows how to treat plants with kindness and respect is welcome to join him.
When asked how he manages to keep his garden thriving in a place with nine months of winter, he will smile and call it a gift, a blessing. But there's a worn look in his eyes, under his shaggy, perpetually summer-colored coat, and you wonder what the price for his gift might have been.