Business was good today. Bor hewed log after log to sell to woodcarvers, carpenters, wheelwrights, and even the occasional curious commoner. A large throng was ever so slowly attempting to make its way through the square, and so the availability of customers was considerably larger. Aside from the common pine and oak, Bor had a mysterious wood he called Mystra - there was only one small log in his cart, and that was a lot. Morris also seemed to guard the wood fiercely, growling deeply whenever a curious passerby tried to sneak a touch. Mystra was rare in Othea's woods, but near Bor's country house a little bit of it grew. Luckily, he had put up a rather high fence and of course none would dare anger Morris the vineman. The only customers willing to actually pay for Mystra were a few shady types that held gnarled old staffs and purple hoods. They only asked for a little chunk, which Bor more than willingly cut off with his large knife. In return, he got a couple of bags of gold. 
Bor had no idea what Mystra did, but he figured it must be something magic and powerful that held absolutely no interest whatsoever to him. However, he did recognize its value and fenced off the area which it grew in his forest. He looked up towards the ever brightening sky. The coronation had to begin soon.