When Hildegard left Laterano to set foot on this trying journey, she received a little pouch. Inside was a small handful of the season's grains. It was a tiny tradition of Landen Monastery's. Hildegard had seen her seniors off to far away lands with much the same thing. The clerics would pick out the best of the monastery's wheat, thresh it with great prudence, then dry the grains and place them into a hand-sewn pouch. They held within them Landen Monastery's fine character and glorious mission. It was said they blessed the Landen Guard in times of tribulation. Hildegard and her senior clerics had discussed this legend's origins more than a few times. Some held that the grains could serve as emergency rations when in desperate straits, but others held their own views. Legend also told of a great Landen soldier who used the wheat he carried on his journey to brew a batch of beer, and brought a safe source of hydration and protracted merriment to villagers whose water had been polluted. All told, wheat was a wonderful thing. Bread and drink, more often than not, came from it. It symbolized an enduring hope. Whether the people longed for luscious joy or a peaceful life, they would find it in these grains. Hildegard had always held the same, too, until she passed through an ancient battlefield on her journey. The Landen Guard had faced the enemy on it some centuries ago, and she'd once read how bitter, how fierce the campaign was. She'd thought it'd be a wasteland covered by the stench of grief. But no, it was now a field of wheat. Though a field of wheat, it seemed altogether inappropriate. The wheat growing here had no farmer to tend it. It sprang high over the plains, filling her view. It was the harvest season, and the golden ears glittered brightly in the downing sun. Hildegard gripped the pouch in her hands. She understood. This field was born from the blessing she held in the heart of her hand. It had been nourished by blood. She suddenly recalled the pet name the clerics of Landen Monastery gave these pouches. 'Seeds of Tomorrow.' How would tomorrow turn out? Nobody knew. Maybe the same as ever, or maybe stained in tears of blood. But with these seeds in hand, there would be beauty in the end, sprouting from whatever became of them, even if it was watered by hardship. Hildegard carefully stowed away the pouch of tomorrow's seeds, to grow again one day.