I am the last in my house who studies herblore,
The only one who knows what treasures the forest holds.
Plucking lutes is no practice for plucking leaves,
And a rapier is a poor tool for digging roots.
And so, in my absence, our garden grew wild;
No hands tended its unkempt growth.
The fountain was shrouded with lobelia leaves,
And coneflowers grew between the cobbles.
But oh, when I returned from my absence,
what a harvest awaited me!

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Chronos, in the year 616 AF.