The air that morning felt stiller.The cold was present, but the wind had eased, leaving a strange, quiet calm around the house.
My mother was already arranging small linen bags near the door.She adjusted her headscarf as she handed me a small basket.
— When you reach the forest's edge, if you find those fine roots, bring some back — she asked gently.— I want to prepare something a bit stronger for your sister's tea.
I glanced briefly toward the bedroom.My sister still lay resting, bundled in thick furs.Her pale color remained, though her sleep was peaceful.
— I'll bring them, Mother.
My father, already wrapped in his heavy coat, adjusted the knife on his belt and smiled.
— Let's go, Torren. Before the sun climbs too high.
The path to the forest's edge wasn't long.Everyone in the village knew it well — used for gathering herbs, thin firewood, and small wild fruits.
The trees stood like ancient sentinels, tall and firm, but spaced enough for sunlight to reach many parts of the ground.
As we walked, my father pointed at various plants with his staff.
— These broad leaves... good for wrapping cheese when we cure it.And there, see? Those small red berries — perfect for winter preserves.
I studied the species carefully.Some felt familiar, others not.
They resembled plants I once knew, yet always with small differences — in scent, texture, or the exact shape of their leaves.
Soon, I spotted the fine roots my mother described.I knelt and carefully loosened the soil, freeing them with my fingers.
— You have careful hands — my father remarked with a quiet smile.— Not every young man pays attention to such details.
I looked up and smiled.
— Maybe I'm just... learning to observe better.
He walked a few steps ahead, speaking softly as we moved.
— Old Yorn has noticed that about you too.He told me just the other day that he's enjoying your conversations.
I felt my face warm slightly.
— We only play Rekal — I replied simply.
— You play... but you talk, too.And that's good, Torren.Learning from those who've seen more of the world is a gift.
We continued gathering what we needed.
Small squirrels darted through distant branches.Pale-feathered birds landed and took flight gracefully.The sound of the forest was different from the village center — more rhythmic, steady, almost like a quiet melody beneath everything.
At one point, we noticed tracks on the ground — deer prints, likely from a few days ago.
— If winter tightens its grip, we may seek one of these for the table — my father said, studying the trail.
I nodded.
Fresh meat would help early in the season.But it was wise to save while stores still lasted.
With the basket nearly full, we began our walk back.The load was light, but the sense of accomplishment walked beside us.
At the bend before the village, we could already see the square in the distance.Some villagers were stacking hay and loading small barrels of preserves.
Preparations continued in every corner.
Winter was coming soon.
Once home, I handed the roots to my mother.
She smelled one of them and smiled, pleased.
— Perfect. This will strengthen the tea.Your sister will grow stronger soon.
I passed by my sister's room.She still slept, her hair spread over the furs.Even pale, her breathing was calm.
I'll keep watching.That's all for now.
Night fell with the soft crackle of burning firewood.The aroma of hot stew filled the house.And the world outside…...waited patiently, until we were ready to uncover more of it.