Privacy Policy

Cauldron keeps no personal data about anybody. There is no account to make, no server behind it, and no path out of the application at all. The elements you have discovered are written into a folder the app keeps for itself on your own handset, and they stay there until you clear them or remove the app.

That is the whole claim, and the leaves that follow take it apart so each piece can be checked rather than taken on faith. The length of a privacy policy generally tracks the amount of collecting a company has to account for; the brevity here has the opposite cause.

One further boundary is worth setting at the start. The company's business is livestock, and a livestock business necessarily keeps records of its own — of buyers, hauliers, holdings. None of that is described in this document, and none of it is reachable from the app, which has no way of asking anything for anything.

What Cauldron stores is a list: which elements have been discovered, which branches of the tree are complete, which milestones have been passed, and where the workspace was left scattered when you last closed it. Beside that sit your preferences — sound, the state of the hint nudges, the position of the library's search.

That folder is fenced off by Android around the application that made it, and nothing else installed on the handset is allowed to look in. The company has no way in either, since no part of the build will obey an instruction sent from elsewhere — nothing in it is listening.

Removing the app removes the folder and all of it. Use the "clear data" control in Android's app settings and the folder empties while the app stays installed — which is also the way to start the book over from four elements.

No advertising framework was compiled into the release, and neither was a statistics library, an attribution kit, a crash reporter, a sign-in provider nor a payment component. These are absences from the package rather than settings within it, which is the firmer promise: nothing waits to be switched off, and no server has the standing to switch it on again.

Named one at a time, the app at no point reads, infers or sends:

• a name, an email, a number, an address — nothing by which a person could be reached;
• whichever string Android holds as an advertising identifier, nor the Android ID, a handset serial or a hardware address;
• the whereabouts of the device, by satellite, by network or by inference;
• contacts, calendar, messages, call history, the microphone, the camera;
• how long a session ran, how often the app is opened, or which branch is being chased;
• pictures or any other file already sitting on the handset.

Every element tile, every page of parchment and every illustration is drawn by the app from artwork compiled into it. Nothing is fetched at first launch or afterwards, which is why the app is complete the moment installation ends and why it behaves identically with the device entirely offline.

The manifest asks for almost nothing. There is no entry for the camera, the microphone, location, contacts or the telephone, so Android never has a permission to put in front of you on the app's behalf.

Obtaining the app from Google Play, or letting it update, is a dealing between the person and Google under Google's own terms, and nothing of the account or device data involved there travels by way of this company. The developer console hands over figures already aggregated — installs counted by country, crash rates, star ratings — in which nobody is identifiable, and there is no second source of anything.

Registration in England places the company under the UK GDPR together with the Data Protection Act 2018. Supervision of both belongs to the Information Commissioner, at ico.org.uk.

The listing is open worldwide and the app is installed across the European Union as well. Someone resident in an EU member state is covered by the European text of the Regulation and may put a complaint to the authority of the country they live in, with no obligation to approach the company first. Doing so is merely faster.

Articles 15 to 21 provide for sight of what is held, correction of it, erasure, a restriction on its use, a portable copy, and objection to the processing altogether. Article 77 adds a complaint to the Commissioner, and nothing written on a page like this could weaken it.

Write to brew@waldronlivestock.boats. The month allowed by Article 12(3) will not be needed; the answer will be short, because no file exists under anyone's name to produce, amend, erase, suspend or forward.

Identification is not demanded beforehand. There is no stored record that such a check could be protecting, and collecting a photograph of someone's passport in order to announce that there is nothing to show would be the one careless act in the entire exchange. A reply that fails to convince deserves one more letter, which will be read with proper attention; past that point the Commissioner is where the matter belongs.

Should a later build of Cauldron take on anything that touches personal data — a collection synchronised between devices, a crash reporter, elements put behind a price, hints on sale, advertising in any shape — the words here are set again and go out ahead of that build, never trailing it.

The impression line beneath the title moves at the same moment, and the substance of the change goes into the Play release notes as well, so that it reaches people who never come to this address. This web address is fixed while the listing lives, and the impression line is the quickest check on whether anything here has moved since your last reading.