Atlantia’s northern reaches hold a grist mill
That turns with water’s pressure at the wheel, 
To grind our goodly grain into a fine meal
To fuel the farmer’s work and scrivener’s quill. 
And in the mill-lands dwells a clever teacher
Whose art and knowledge wind through everything
From calligraphy to brewing, drawing, stitching,
To tending each and every woodland creature. 
And thus we hold an opal up to sunlight,
And offer it to Lady Jill Dýravörður* 
And say she holds its fire within her insight
As the flaming stone does in its fey liqueur.
This eighteenth day of the frozen month of Ymir
We Abran King, and Anya Queen alight
From dais regal, to thank our generous worker
Whose kindness brightens all with its true light. 

Calligraphy and Illumination by Kolfinna Valravn
Poem by Lanea

* Roxbury Jill