The hands that hold this quill are stocky and rough from tilling the family's fields. My shoulders are broad, my body is sturdy. Such is the fate of my family line, born to work the soil until we drop. Alas, I could never escape the allure of adventure. Once when I was young and sowing seeds near the edge of our lot, I heard a whistle from the forest. I snuck through the rickety fence and followed the melody. Eventually, I found a young bard leaning against a tree stump, whistling and carving a flute. When I returned to the empty fields in the dead of night, I was met by my father's disapproval. He could put me back to work, but he couldn't keep me from humming that mesmerizing tune... Valory

Market days were my favorite. That fateful day, I traded the farm vegetables for stories and secrets until a familiar melody made me pause. The same tune that called me into the forest so long ago was beckoning me once more. I dropped my sacks of grain and followed it. I found a bard surrounded by a swaying crowd, playing the bewitching symphony on flute. Something inside of me blossomed like a forgotten seed. "Get 'yer head out of the clouds!" My father yelled that evening, spitting his mashed potatoes onto the dinner table. "You got the wrong blood! Look at 'yer hands — They're bulky and strong, not made to fiddle around! He stuffed his mouth with a dry piece of bread and washed it down with well water. "'Yer a farmer, kid. Can't change it." Valory

"Birds get to fly wherever they want. Why can't I?" Those thoughts raced through my head as I carved the firewood my father had tasked me to gather. Lost in thought, I began to hum my favorite melody. When I looked up, I saw a magpie had landed near my feet. "Why won't you fly away, little one? If I was you, I'd leave." I said. The bird just tilted its head, as if confused. I looked down at my hands, at the wood. If these farmer's hands can carve a flute, then what else could they do? Maybe you carve your own destiny. Maybe you choose your family, and who to love. When to work, and when to dance. How to grow, and when to feel like a kid. I knew it was just a "maybe", but "maybe" was enough for me. I put my carving knife and flute into my bag, stood up, and walked away from the farm, whistling. I've never looked back. Valory