Sowerby

The same Sowerby before winter looks different: the market shrinks from five rows to three, and the roads from the south, through the valley of the Wool, close at the first snow — wagons halt in the valleys and the town is left to itself. The sky over the Roost is empty then. Life goes under a roof: the heart of the season becomes the guildhall, a shared, neutral room where all the guilds gather and great feasts are held. Hired cooks serve them — cooking in the kitchen of the house that gives the feast, and baking the breads at the local baker's. It is the season when the town warms itself with its own bustle, for nothing more will come from outside until spring.