Truffle and Filbert

When the townsfolk spoke of Filbert, it wasn't just the image of a pig laden with food that stuck in their minds but also the rumbling of the ground and the gusts of wind as she ran by.

Why, you might wonder?

Well, it's inevitably linked to the occasional lopsided walls and flattened market stalls throughout the town, indisputable evidence of Filbert's path. Naturally, what followed was a slew of complaint letters to the Church.

Yet, every such mishap signalled Filbert's successful return from foraging, which meant the letters often contained more cheerful notes than grievances:

"That old wall is practically family, it's hurting now, thanks to that bump. Please let Truffle send some extra bread our way to ease the pain!"

Ah, and there it is again, the distant "BOOM" of Filbert bolting through the streets...

"Dear friend, if you ever happen to see a petite girl joyfully sprinting through the city streets with a colossal pig in tow, don't be too surprised. The real surprise might be that no one here finds such a scene unusual."

"In this city, they are well-known figures: Commissary Truffle and her faithful companions, the Filbert family, titled the Special Commissaries. They shimmer over the urban sprawl like two bright strawberries atop a pancake. Mention the name 'Truffle' to anyone in the Elysian Church, and you might provoke a series of stern frowns as they recount her whimsical ways. Yet, if you look closely, you'll be hard-pressed to find any true annoyance in their eyes, perhaps it's more like being hit on the head by a ripe fruit in an orchard, which is hardly worth fuming over..."

"The girl's voice, buoyant and heartfelt, reaches the ears of many who crave a touch of happiness: 'May everyone in this world have full bellies and no worries!'" Tales of the Southern Lands, by Vivian, Lucan writer/traveller

To this day, Truffle vividly recalls the gnawing pangs of hunger:

Initially, it felt as if an army of tin soldiers armed with long spears was relentlessly battling a fire-breathing dragon inside her belly, their fierce clashes searing her tender stomach. Over time, these soldiers grew tired and migrated to her head, linking arms and spinning in circles, which left her dizzy and collapsed on the ground.

The taste of bitterness lingered long on her tongue as if she had been force-fed a bowl of dense, bitter herb soup. Relief came only in her dreams, dreams filled with the delicious scent of loaves of bread fresh from the oven.

Thus, every night, Truffle fervently prayed to the god who wove dreams, pleading, "O great God of Dreams, please don't let me wake up. Let this miracle linger a moment longer."

In many ways, Truffle would make an excellent scout for an army.

She knows how to find the easiest paths through the wilderness, can read directions by the shapes of tree canopies, and remembers every hidden spring where Filbert can drink her fill.

When it comes to wild mushrooms and berries, she's got it down to a science: she knows which fruits are tart or astringent, which mushrooms, though bright red, are safe to eat, and which ones could debilitate an entire squad. For Truffle, navigating the forest is as natural and effortless as a soldier handling a rifle.

But the thought of Truffle caught up in smoke and gunfire just doesn't sit right. She belongs on sunlit country roads, riding on the back of mountain breezes, not amidst gunpowder and the stench of war.

On the outskirts of the city, ancient lands stretch beneath the canopy of towering oaks and dense bushes. Hidden in the soil grow the elusive Rubycaps, a type of edible mushroom.

Unlike the vibrant flowers that bloom openly above ground, these underground mushrooms were once very hard to find.

Now, every autumn, as the southern heat wanes and the northern winds begin to gild the fields, a familiar duo always appears: a little girl named Truffle and her large companion, Filbert.

Why do they come here, you might wonder? They're on the hunt for Rubycaps.

Filbert lifts her snout, sniffing the air with the skill of a seasoned tracker. The crisp scent of decaying leaves and the sweet, intoxicating smell of overripe berries fill the air, but it's the peculiar, earthy aroma that reveals their target, the hidden Rubycaps.

With a simple nudge, Filbert clears away the thick blanket of leaves and digs into the rich, dark soil beneath. As soon as the tip of a Rubycap is exposed, its strong fragrance fills the air, drawing even the diligent squirrels from their nut-gathering to investigate. Together, the duo carefully unearth the entire Rubycap for Truffle to stow safely in her pouch. After a quick rinse of her hands in a nearby stream, Truffle hops onto Filbert's back, and they dash back to the city with a bountiful haul.

And so, in this small town under the care of the Elysian Church, during a season marred by poor crop harvests, even the poorest feast like kings on these exquisite Rubycaps, indulging until they can eat no more. Such an anomaly stirs curiosity, but a glance at the bustling duo of Truffle and Filbert clears up any bewilderment. With an admiring smile, people take another bite of the rare treat.

Despite being an official Commissary for the Elysian Church, Truffle doesn't really care for their rules and rituals, the endless scriptural teachings are far too tedious for her liking. So, for her, going out to forage for food is as much about escaping as it is about helping others. Of course, no one doubts her good intentions, but when people discover that she's partly motivated by a desire to avoid Church duties, they can't help but chuckle.

In Truffle's earliest memories, there's a nursery rhyme she could never forget, always echoing in her ears:

"Snowflakes drift, oh, gently they fall,

Upon the roof of the sacred hall, as winter veils all.

'Neath the Heaventree, we sing our praise,

Gods smile as we shed tattered coats for new, in Their grace."

The melody drifted from a room aglow with candlelight and clear windows, where a fire crackled warmly. A group of children gather around a long table, singing in harmony. Floating through this melody were the tantalizing scents of pies, rich mushroom soup, and thick slices of roast meat. The aromas danced and twirled with the children's joy, escaping through a slightly ajar window and drifting down to Truffle, who huddled beneath the window to avoid the falling snow, her nose and ears tinged red because of the cold.

Truffle sniffled, possibly trying to catch more of those delicious aromas, or simply due to a runny nose from the chill.

She found herself humming along: "Snowflakes drift, oh, lightly they fall, down the bustling streets..." as if singing the same tune might somehow earn her a bite of the pie.

"That didn't work... I'm still so hungry..."

Clutching her rumbling stomach, she picked up a dry twig and began to sketch in the shallow snow the foods her nose teased her with, roast chicken, doughnuts, and... the simplest of all, bread.

"I'd love some bread..." Truffle mused, tracing the bread more vividly in the snow, believing that the more lifelike her drawing is, the stronger the scent would become, yes, it smelled so real, as if it were right in front of her.

Suddenly, Truffle looked up and saw a loaf of bread floating in the air, just as she had imagined. Reaching out to grab it, she noticed it was being held by a small creature.

It was a tiny, pink animal, dusted with snow like a sugar-coated strawberry cake. Though it was shivering from the cold, it didn't seem afraid of the girl. Instead, it lifted its head, raising the bread higher, trying to bring it closer to Truffle's hand.

Truffle hesitantly took the bread and then saw the tiny creature clearly. It was struggling to stay upright on its hind legs, staring intently at her, obviously urging her to eat the bread quickly.

As the nursery rhyme continued to drift from the room above, that frosty night witnessed the first, and perhaps the most profound miracle in Truffle's life. And for the creature that would later be named Filbert, it might have been just as miraculous.

However, there was one exception where Truffle's memory became exceptionally sharp, when the text mentioned food. She could precisely pinpoint the exact paragraphs describing grapes, bread, and milk, instantly recall how many times they appeared, and even vividly recite the descriptions of their taste and texture.

Truffle's most vivid memory was of a passage detailing grapes. This was how she remembered it: There was this really great, great priest, though his name escaped her, who was about to die of thirst in some desert somewhere. But then, the heavens sent down a bunch of grapes. There were nine of them, with skins like purple amethyst, flesh as green as the deepest forest, and juice as sweet as the very first morning dew.

This depiction was so entrenched in Truffle's mind that when she finally tasted real grapes for the first time, she was crushed by disappointment, so much so that she cried, leaving the well-meaning priests in a panic, utterly confused about what had gone wrong.

Truffle's longest record for concentrating on the Elysian Scriptures was a mere seven minutes. And no matter how many times she went over a passage, it would vanish from her memory the moment she closed the book. This had some priests genuinely worried about her future, leading to a comment that seemed harsh at the time but now feels ironically funny:

"Keeping this child here is simply a waste of food!"

Truffle never fully understood why she was so obsessed with food. It might have stemmed from the harsh famine she endured as a child, or perhaps from the unique joy she felt from bringing food and happiness to the townspeople with Filbert. Whatever the reason, one thing is clear: Truffle cherishes her life with Filbert by her side.

No one knew exactly when the little girl who once wandered the streets alone found herself with an inseparable pig companion. Sometimes, they'd be spotted helping out in restaurant kitchens; other times, you'd see them foraging under an oak tree for anything to quell their hunger.

The task of naming her pig friend baffled Truffle for a long time, until the day she lost her first baby tooth while trying to crack open a tough filbert.

She'd heard from the elders that losing a tooth was a sign of growing up. Truffle yearned to grow up, because growing up meant becoming strong enough to provide for herself. Hence, the symbolic filbert inspired the name for her one and only friend, Filbert.

But their separation came much sooner than Truffle had imagined. One day, while gathering mushrooms on a rocky cliff, Truffle slipped and fell. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself lying on a soft, warm bed, candles flickering high above, fresh air filling her lungs instead of the usual scent of earth, she was in a small room in the Elysian Church's sanctuary. It was Priestess McGuffin who had found her unconscious at the foot of the cliff and brought her here.

A comfortable bed, clean bandages, fresh water, and clean food, these were luxuries that had only existed in Truffle's dreams. She lay there, overwhelmed, fearing it would all vanish if she pinched herself.

The kind-hearted priests and priestesses asked Truffle about her home and family, intending to send her home once she recovered.

"I... I don't have any family. But I have a friend named Filbert, she's waiting for me out there."

"Filbert... that's not a common name."

"Uh-huh, and she's a very good pig."

"A pig!?" The priests and priestesses exchanged hesitant looks. "We cannot keep large pets in the sanctuary."

"But Filbert isn't a pet! She's my friend!"

Before she could argue further, Priestess McGuffin interjected, "Don't waste time, Truffle. You have to choose between staying here and staying with your pig."

Truffle thought of that distant winter night when she huddled against a thick wall, overhearing the nursery rhyme sung by children snug in their home with their family.

Truffle didn't have much time to decide. She thought of the soft bed and the piles of bread in the little room, and finally, she took the priestess's hand. The orange-scented glow of the setting sun blurred her vision.

It seemed Truffle had finally found a warm home, and all the memories of her wandering days soon sank into darkness, like the sun disappearing beyond the horizon.

Yet, in the dead of night, while everyone else was asleep, Truffle quietly slipped out of that warm house and made her way towards a place she could barely remember. Surrounded by towering buildings and the eerie calls of unknown birds, Truffle began to feel uneasy. Still, she pressed on, despite the lingering pain from her injuries. She knew she had to go to that place... As long as she could make it there...

Almost there... She could already see the giant window from that winter night. No melodies or enticing aromas drifted out this time, so she couldn't be sure if it was the right place, until she saw that familiar figure, only much larger now.

In a scene as poetic as any playwright could depict, in the stillness of the night, Truffle ran forward and flung herself at the massive figure.

"Filbert!"

As the first rays of dawn lit the horizon, tears glistened on Truffle's cheeks.

Truffle's thick, golden hair tangles easily after a night's sleep, so it takes Priestess McGuffin much longer to comb it than the hair of the other children under her care.

But no matter how neatly her hair is braided, it inevitably unravels into a wild mess after she spends a few hours running around the woods. Over time, Priestess McGuffin has become quite skilled at deciphering Truffle's adventures simply by the wild berries or bits of grass caught in her unruly mane.

A commissary isn't a common position, it's typically reserved for large cities that require food distribution and management, or for regions that rely on imported supplies to feed their people.

But in the small town where Truffle lives, the position seems out of place. The town isn't a strategic military post, nor is it a bustling hub for mining or logging.

Visitors to the town often find themselves puzzled: How did Truffle become the town's commissary? And why is Filbert, her pig companion, dubbed "the special commissary"?

The locals are always happy to explain to curious visitors, recounting the story of how Truffle and Filbert once managed to feed the entire town during a devastating famine.

However, visitors mostly just laugh it off, dismissing it as a charming local tale. Alas, how benighted they are!

Truffle loathes war. At the slightest hint of it, she and Filbert immediately begin stockpiling food, not only for their fellow townsfolk but also for refugees who might seek sanctuary from their shattered lives.

Not long after Truffle joined the Elysian Church, the town was struck by a severe famine. The Church's food reserves were nearly exhausted, leaving the orphans they cared for with barely enough to eat.

At night, the dormitory was filled with the rumbling of hungry stomachs, a symphony of hunger echoing through the quiet.

Some of the younger children, unable to sleep from the pangs of hunger, would curl up in their beds and quietly sob. Truffle, her own belly just as empty, would drag herself over to comfort them.

"It's okay, just try to sleep. You won't feel the hunger if you're asleep."

"But I'm too hungry to fall asleep... Aren't you hungry?"

Truffle patted her own flat stomach, her brows furrowing in frustration as she exhaled a sigh.

"I'm starving, actually. But don't worry, I know a trick to help us fall asleep. Just close your eyes."

Truffle placed her warm little hands over her friend's eyes and began to whisper a silly, makeshift lullaby, one she invented on the spot: "Imagine a huge wheat field, and you're a little mole. In your tunnel, there are tons of potatoes! You count them: one potato, two potatoes, three potatoes, four potatoes..."

"Twenty-seven potatoes, twenty-eight potatoes, twenty-nine potatoes..."

"Fifty-three potatoes... fifty-four potatoes... fifty-six... fifty-seven... *snores*..."

As the rumblings subsided, Truffle's own stomach played the final note.

Lying in the darkness, Truffle thought back to her days of wandering with Filbert. She made a silent vow to herself, to do something about this, not just for herself, but for everyone else.

Whenever you're with Truffle, the conversation always seems to circle back to food. The people she meets and the stories she shares, almost everything in her life revolves around food.

But if you ask her what the tastiest thing she's ever had was, it wouldn't be the hearty potato pancakes or the delicate phero fish porridge. No, she'd say it was a simple slice of whole wheat bread sprinkled with a pinch of salt, a modest staple that kept them going at the Church during a long period of scarcity.

Filbert is much smarter than she looks. She makes a special little grunt when she's happy to help feed someone, and she'll mope in a corner if anyone makes fun of her. But it doesn't take long for her to shake it off, give her a few hours, and she's back to cheerfully wagging her tail as usual.

Truffle often finds herself missing Priestess McGuffin, despite her gruff demeanour and constant scowl.

Truffle cherishes the memory of the warmth of the priestess's hand when she patted her back to lull her to sleep, and her gentle expression when she finally allowed Filbert to wander freely around the Church.

On that hunger-clouded night, Truffle made up her mind that she would try her best to end the symphony of rumbling stomachs.

The next day, to everyone's surprise, she walked out of the Church's house and headed straight for the forest, whistling as she went. Normally, Truffle only dared to sneak out at night to play with her companion, careful not to stray too far or cause any trouble that might attract the stern gaze of Priestess McGuffin. But today was different, Truffle had a grand plan brewing in her little head.

As expected, the clip-clop of hooves soon joined her whistling, it was her dear friend, Filbert. Unaffected by the famine, Filbert was as plump as ever, perhaps even larger than Truffle remembered.

"Filbert, do you remember our days of wandering together?"

Truffle reminisced about those times, recalling how Filbert had carried her, weak and weary, to many places: to a thawing river where they caught plenty of fish, to a barren forest where they found an abundance of nuts, and to the cliffs where they gathered lots of mushrooms. It was then that Truffle realised the vast bounty that lay beyond the city's reach.

So, if the city's running out of food, why not gather more from the wild?

Truffle shared her big plan with Filbert, and the inseparable duo embarked on their quest.

They reached the riverbanks, only to find them lined with people desperately trying to catch fish, but with little success.

They ventured into the forest, but even the bark and leaves of the trees had been stripped for sustenance.

They decided to give up on the quest to the cliffs, knowing all too well what awaited them there...

It seemed as though the whole world was starving. Fish, bugs, birds, and beasts, every creature was desperately consuming others in a futile bid for survival, only to fall, starve, and rot in the end...

Exhausted, Truffle collapsed under a tree that had been gnawed nearly to pieces.

The cold, hunger-stricken blur of that snowy night returned. Truffle felt so cold and hungry... and Filbert's form began to fade before her eyes...

But just then, Filbert, who was also defeated and worn out, suddenly perked up as she caught a scent. She scampered to a nearby tree and began digging with what little strength she had left.

A sharp, pungent smell filled Truffle's nostrils, rousing her from the brink of unconsciousness. There, just like before, Filbert was offering her something to eat.

With her considerable expertise in food, Truffle instantly recognised it was a Rubycap, a rare edible mushroom growing deep beneath the earth under trees. Due to their elusive nature and the effort required to unearth them, no one had yet attempted to harvest them.

Though it tasted strange, as Truffle chewed the Rubycap, she felt her strength returning. Meanwhile, Filbert had already unearthed a dozen more under the tree.

As they hustled back and forth, the priestesses at the Church were astounded to find heaps of Rubycaps stacked high at their doorstep. They quickly ate their fill and began distributing the surplus to the famished townsfolk.

By the time green buds sprouted anew in the forest, the famine had subsided. Yet Truffle felt a twinge of sadness, she realised that with everyone now fed, there was no longer a need for her and Filbert to forage together, which meant she wouldn't be able to spend as much time with Filbert.

Feeling downcast, Truffle wanted to ask Priestess McGuffin for her permission to play with Filbert for a few more days, but she didn't have the courage to voice her thoughts and ended up pacing back and forth outside the Church until she accidentally bumped into Priestess McGuffin, who was returning from town.

"I... um... about Filbert, er..." Truffle fumbled for words, trying to articulate her small wish to the typically unsmiling priestess. To her surprise, Priestess McGuffin smiled, handing her a letter. Truffle read the letter, struggling to understand the fancy script:

"Beneath the sacred branches of the Heaventree... by the grace of the Great Nine... Truffle, child of this land... um, something something in times of need… the noble creature known as Filbert... who something at her side... Truffle is hereby bestowed the title Comm-something... Filbert... the Special Comm-something..."

"I don't understand, Priestess McGuffin. What does this letter mean? It also says something about Filbert... oh, about her... can you please not send Filbert away? She really helped a lot... can you let her stay a little longer?"

Priestess McGuffin kept smiling as she knelt down to Truffle's level and said, "The letter says that you and Filbert can stay together forever."

"Really!?" Truffle's eyes widened in disbelief. "Thank you, gods! Thank you, Priestess McGuffin!"

"No, Truffle, it's us who should be thanking you and Filbert. You two are the greatest miracle I've ever seen."

Though still not fully grasping the priestess's words, Truffle beamed with joy, for everything she had wished for had come true.