saddler, of Kuttenberg
“I run my own shop and ply my own trade. Stitch by stitch, a man builds his life, even when his own kin pull the thread the other way.”
Things Hermann Oswald had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Vespers
Another girth stitched, another day done. I took a bridle over to Anna Vogel’s yard this afternoon, fixed the cheekpiece for a mere penny. A decent man should help his neighbours. Just standing by the fence makes the day's toil feel lighter, though my hands are stained dark as oak bark with tannin.
Nota scribaeThe saddler spoke quickly, his fingers twitching as if holding a needle.
the second day of Rogation days, at None
The hide they sold me yesterday is stiffer than a frozen corpse. I nearly snapped my awl trying to punch through it. God’s wounds, it’s hard to make a living when the soldiers take the best leather and leave us the scraps. If Master Heinz were here, he’d know a trick to soften it.
Rub it down with a bit of tallow and let it sit by the hearth, lad. Don't force the awl, or you'll be buying a new one.
I'll try that, Master Heinz. I should come by your shop soon, there is something heavy on my mind I would ask your counsel on.
the Tuesday after Easter, at Terce
A man ought to be able to choose his own path. I have my own shop, my own half-moon knife shaped to my hand. I am no prentice lad fetching water. Yet I am treated like a child who knows nothing of the world. A frayed girth will snap if you pull it too tight.
A son honours his father and mother. Do not shame this family with foolish ideas. A house built on poor foundations will fall, as your father would tell you.
I am trying to build a household, Mother. But a man needs a wife he can look upon with a glad heart.
Nota scribaeHe muttered this darkly, looking over his shoulder toward his father's house.
the feast of St Gregory, at Sext
Saw Hans the clerk crossing the square today, clutching his tally sticks like a miser. He makes decent folk tremble over a few groschen owed. There are people in this town working their fingers to the bone, honest folk like Denise, who shouldn't have to fear a knock at the door.
The parish dues are the parish dues, saddler. The Lord's work requires silver, and the tithe rolls do not lie.
Please, Hermann, do not speak of it. We all have our burdens to carry.
the day after Ash Wednesday, at Prime
Anna Vogel chased that widow Kethe right out of the yard yesterday. Shouting loud enough to wake the dead. I stayed in my shop and kept my head down, drawing thread until the yelling stopped. A wise man knows when to keep his mouth shut and let the storm pass.
She had it coming. That woman's tongue is sharper than your awl, Hermann, and I won't have her insulting my household.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You do good work, Hermann. And for a fair price. Better than some in this town who think too highly of themselves.
You spend too much time at that fence, boy. Time is coin, and you are wasting both.