Flag of Blue

He’d ventured south of the wall, into the Estuary, in search of Blue Flag. He wore his harness and a lining of sheep skin from one of the last sheep Valhalla had owned and deerhide overlaid. On either side he bore his large pouches, ready for a day of cold, wet digging.

The Irises were only part of what brought him here. He could always use to add more water min to his stock, and so he padded slowly through the damp, reed-laden area, eyes scanning with practiced skill and observation over the winter-dormant plants.

They wouldn’t be dormant for much longer, unless winter chose to cling on for longer. Finally, his eyes lit upon the familiar signs of the Iris plans, and he bent to gently prize the mud away from the plant with delicate toes.