He returned to the stove with a basket full of vegetables. A large iron pot sat atop the stone structure, ready for use. He retrieved a wooden bucket of water from the corner of his cottage. Pouring the clear, cold liquid into the pot, he settled the bucket with a satisfied sigh.
It was now time for the fire. Erik reached into a pile of gathered, dry twigs and logs. These were meticulously placed inside the stove, their brittle forms ready to be consumed.
He struck the flint against the steel, and the resulting spark danced its way to the dry fuel. A hungry flame leaped up, eager to consume the offerings, and soon a warm, crackling fire was burning brightly, casting flickering shadows that danced on the walls of his treetop home.
The flame's heat gradually warmed the water in the pot. He added the vegetables as the bubbles began to rise. Under the flame's watchful eye, the pot's contents began to transform. The vegetables' colors softened, and their nutrients leaked into the water, transforming it into a rich, hearty broth.
Erik moved his small kitchen in an organized rhythm, a dance honed by repetition and necessity. He adjusted the flame as needed, stirring the pot occasionally with a large wooden spoon. The aroma of cooking food quickly filled the cottage, a simple yet comforting scent that spoke of home and safety.
Erik took the time to clean up while his meal was cooking. He tidied his kitchen and put away the remaining vegetables. He ensured the fire was burning at the proper intensity—not too low that it died out, but not too high that it became a hazard.
His meal was finally ready as the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky. He poured the hot broth into a wooden bowl and sat by the window. A wave of contentment washed over him as he took his first sip of the hot soup.
Despite the arduous journey and missed opportunities, he was alive, safe, and celebrating his birthday with a hot meal. It wasn't a perfect day, but it was his, and that was enough.
The forest outside was a dark tapestry flecked with the glow of the distant torches. Erik gazed into the night, knowing the next day would bring new challenges.
But for the time being, he relished the peaceful silence, solitude, and simple joy of a well-prepared meal. His eyes became heavy, and as he finished his dinner, he drifted off to sleep, ready to face another day in this strange and dangerous world.
***
Erik awoke from his peaceful slumber as the first rays of dawn pierced the veil of night. The early morning light filtered through the wooden slats in the windows, casting golden stripes across the room.
He felt the usual stiffness in his muscles, a reminder of the previous day's exertions. However, he felt a sense of freshness; resting did wonders for his stiff body.
He got out of bed, and a glance outside confirmed the start of a new day. The sounds of the forest were beginning to stir, the chirping of birds mingling with the distant rustle of leaves, a chorus signaling the beginning of another day in the treetop village.
Erik knew better, despite the apparent calm of the morning. The peace was deceptive, a mask for the threat that loomed over the village.
The situation, however, did not allow them to waste time; the villagers were beginning to stir as well, creating a flurry of activity as they began their day. Erik could hear distant voices, clattering tools, and the soft hum of everyday life beginning to pick up.
His thoughts then turned to the activities of the day. Since arriving in the village, he has been responsible for assisting on the farm due to his knowledge and powers. It was an essential component of the village's means of subsistence.
Life continued even amid the hazards and perils of the forest, and growing food was just as crucial to surviving as protecting oneself from the hazards.
Erik splashed his face with cold water from a basin, a refreshing jolt to fully wake him. He was out the door in a flash, dressed in the unremarkable clothes he wore to work.
The villagers had given him a tunic made of rough-spun yarn, a pair of sturdy pants, and some worn boots. These items constituted his working attire. Before he dashed out the door, he snatched a piece of bread left over from the previous meal and quickly chewed it.
Erik stepped out into the bright morning light, making a final check to ensure his sword was secure by his side. The forest loomed ahead, shrouded in morning mist, its mysteries, and dangers hidden among the foliage.
Erik set off down the worn path that led to the farm, ready to face another day in this scary world, taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air.
The young man was halfway through the wooden bridges when he noticed Vanessa approaching him. Her blond hair glowed like the sun in the morning light, allowing her to be easily identified. She was a fierce fighter whose abilities were admired by everyone in the village.
Amos had entrusted the woman with a monumental task: protecting their home from the looming threat of Frantian soldiers. This was no easy task, but Vanessa had repeatedly demonstrated her determination and tenacity, qualities that earned her the Scout Leader position.
The scout team had become a more cohesive unit under her leadership, with their communication and tactics sharpening with each passing day. Everyone in the village had noticed a ripple of positive change caused by her influence.
However, the brutality of the situation left its mark on even the strongest warriors. Vanessa and her team had engaged with a group of Frantian soldiers two days prior. The battle was fierce, and the villagers were defeated. Only she survived the encounter, raising the level of alertness throughout the city to all-time highs.
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