November rains have made it difficult to manage the manor gardens. Cidwm has been good about keeping up the hedges of the knot gardens and preparing the earth for Spring. Even in the most severe of downfalls, the groundskeeper may be seen in the soil, spade or shovel in hand. There are days here and there without rain, though the dark clouds refuse to betray the sun's hiding place. On those days I may also be found in the wild labyrinth of wickedly ungoverned trees, flower and berry bushes, and vines so thick that the latticework of arbor and trellis have all but vanished beneath the unvanquished flora.

Many are long dead from years of neglect. Some still have hope for recovery, their faery hosts slumbering in death-like dormancy, patiently waiting the soft kiss of the vernal equinox. There is much work to do before that time. Much uprooting, tilling, and replanting. Cidwm follows me into the wild garden reluctantly. He crosses himself and hold a pouch of something close to him. Though the manor grounds have been "sealed" against the Deceiver, my groundskeeper still treads carefully around the estate, every step deliberate and unassuming.