A gentle breeze rustles the leaves on the lush oak trees. They sway in unison while communicating with gentle, creaking sounds. The wind continues its travel to a small wooden cottage. Fresh white curtains made from soft linen oscillates by the window as the breeze enters the building. The refreshing waft of spring envelops the humble, but functional home of four farmers.
A woman and a man sleep next to each other in a bed, its frame made of sturdy oak and is padded with soft hay. The wind caresses the nose of the man, accompanied with the slight smell of rain. Less wanted smells of manure from his cattle outside on the farm also manages to seep into the cottage. Thorkell gets roused from his short but rewarding sleep as thoughts of a busy day fills his mind. It is spring after all and there is no lack of work on the farm during the season of growth and renewal.
Still groggy from his disturbed slumber during a particularly pleasant dream, he makes his way toward the back of the house which is designated as the washing area for the family. There lays a tray of fresh water on a simple, wooden stump. Thorkell dips his callused hands into the cold water and rinses his face, serving as the waking call for the aging man. Thorkell is a tall man with a strong physique, thanks to his work on the farm and being blessed by good genes from his parents. Water drops down his bushy blonde beard and long hair as he looks into the fuzzy mirror positioned above the bowl. Wrinkles of age has started appearing on him, despite his adamant rejection of them.
Thorkell quickly gets dressed in his humble woollen vest and pants and moves toward the door. His clothes are not particularly expensive, but instead serves their purpose as comfortable and easy to toil with on the farm for an entire day. As he opens the door and steps outside, a loud bonk emanates above him as his head hits the beam, as happens most mornings.
“Should definitely raise that one day… Tomorrow, maybe,” he contemplates in a similar manner as yesterday, and the day before as he closes the door behind him.
The same routine your father does every morning has started to serve as a sign to wake up. When the old man hits his head, it means it is time for you to get up. Following a similar routine, you move toward the washing bowl on the northern side of the house and rinse your face. Cold water runs down your chiselled features and keeps dripping down onto the bowl as you look up into the mirror. In the mirror you see a handsome young man staring back at you. You can’t help but do a small flex with the muscles you have gained from toiling on the farm for the past 15 years. Well, almost 15 years. Your mother did have something to say when your father tried to put you to work as a one-year-old.
“Back in my day, we were put to work before we even were born!” was your father’s excuse for that one.
He has always been a man of action, especially when it comes to working on the farm. Everyone in the family has to work to earn their keep, which is a fair philosophy to live by.
You look around the house which is of a humble stature. It has no excess decorations, and nothing is out of place. Everything that can be found in here is placed there for a reason and serves a purpose. In the heart of the abode is a stone-laced rectangular shape with animal skins laid around it. Bright embers are still smothering off their final heat while giving off slight crackles, sending sparks flying upward toward the small, elevated centre of the roof. On the eastern side are two hay beds located next to each other. In one of them lays a small girl most likely still dreaming of wondrous things she has never had the joy to experience before. A name is etched into the edge of the wooden frame: “Saga”. They are not the most comfortable beds, but they do the trick. After a day of hard work, you could sleep on anything as long as it isn’t moving.
On the other side of the house is another bed, this one much larger. In it lays your mother, Idunn, covered only partly by the sheet which was left crumpled after your father stood up only a few minutes prior. Your mother’s body is covered in bruises from a life of hard work on the farm. Apparently, she went to war when she was younger, but refuses to speak about it. She is usually awake earlier than you, but today is Sunday, after all and sleeping in is encouraged.
You get dressed in your simple tunic and pants and head outside after your father. Even if it is Sunday, the supposed resting day, you know your father won’t spend an entire day doing nothing. That stubborn oaf would work himself to death if he could.
“I’ll have time to rest in the grave,” his words echo in your mind. He would probably find a way to work when he’s dead… you think to yourself, a smile appearing on your young features.
You open the door and bend your back slightly. That pesky old doorframe certainly won’t get the better of you. The morning sun shines brightly past the treetops to the east as you make your way out of the house. The birds are already awake and are happily twittering away on the branches nearby. A few steps to your side you spot your father, listening in on the birds with a serene expression. He has always been enamoured by nature and the various wildlife residing within. Often, he asks weird questions like: “Have you ever thought of what they’re saying?” when the birds chatter away happily to one another. You have heard of shamans to the north with the ability to speak to animals, but they are long since banned from the kingdom since their ability resembles too closely to magic which has been outlawed for decades now.
You sneak up on your prey with the agility of a fox, carefully avoiding every leaf that may give off even the slightest bit of sound. Nearing your target, you flex your feet and ready yourself for a big pounce. He won’t even see it coming. You fly through the air with as much speed as you can muster and hit your target dead-on! But instead of toppling him over, it feels as if you just hit a brick wall. With a very unsatisfying thud, you topple over on the ground in pain as it feels like your neck has become shrunk two-fold.
“Hmm?” your father wonders as he turns around in confusion. “Thorfinn! Good of you to join me on this fine ‘morning. There’s plenty to do, so stop playing around in the mud.”
Ugh, one day you will be strong enough to bring down that giant. But for now, you recede to your faith and spend yet another day doing gruelling work on the farm.
Farming might be your father’s passion, but it has never sat well with you. Since you were little, he has constantly said that you should see and understand your place in the world, which according to him is on the farm. But you have something grander in sight. A life of adventure.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
No matter what it is you want, the reality remains that you are stuck on this farm. Your father is a hard-working and kind man and would continue to toil on the farm until he finally collapses. Without you to help him on the farm he would most certainly work himself to death, which is a heavy burden to bear. Perhaps when Saga is older and she can take on a bigger burden can you get the chance to see your dreams come through. But for now, your place is here, by your father’s side.
Thorkell’s farm is located a few dozen stone throws away from the main trading port in the North, Fagravik. You wondered how long a stone’s throw is anyway? Whose stone throw is it that counts? You could certainly throw further than Saga. A weird system to measure distance. So many questions to answer and so many more to ask in this oh-so-vast world yet so little time to ask them.
“Father!” you say excited. “Want to hear about the dream I dreamt of today? It was so grand, we were saili…”
Your father cuts you off with a weary sigh.
“Yes, yes, it’s some grand adventure of yours again, probably filled with glory and wonders as always. But today, Thorfinn! The farm calls our names. Onwards, young one!”
You look away in the distance. From the small hill your house is built upon, a small sliver of the ocean can be seen. With entranced eyes, you look upon the deep blue wonder with amazement. One day, you shall conquer it. One day, you shall sail to a different land and experience all the wonders it has to offer. One day… Interrupting your train of thought is another gentle breeze. As if playing a prank on you, it brings with it the intense stench of manure from the animal pens located not far from your house. A great abundance of the stench. The wanderlust shall have to wait until another day, it seems.
“Aah!” your father exclaims. “The stench of gold coins has reached us. Come, Thorfinn, for nature waits for no one.”
You father has always been a rather odd man, at least according to everyone else in town. Born and raised in the outskirts of Fagravik, he didn’t get to spend a lot of time with peers of the same age. Instead, he became more part of nature than of the busy town and its pestering inhabitants constantly scolding him on his smell and appearance. He preferred traversing the woods, planting crops, harvesting the fields, and tending to the animals, as this brought him true happiness in life. It brought in good coin for his family and would secure a living for any future generations. He never felt the need to associate with others, that is until he met your mother. According to her, your father had been quite the inquisitive boy when he was young, always asking travelers and merchants who came to visit about agriculture and animal husbandry. All the other children would only pester them about tales of heroism and adventuring, but your father was different. He knew what the fates had in store for him and tried his best to follow it. By doing this, he learned different methods of farming and caring for animals, which only served to better his farm.
You let out a sigh and start following your father to the fields.
With spring arriving, the ground has begun to thaw, and the first crops can soon be planted. Once again would your family slave away on the field for days on end. The same monotonous cycle repeating itself. Even so, you stayed to help your father, but felt anxiousness welling up within you after every passing season. You do feel happy helping out on the farm, as you know this makes your father happy. You do have your entire life ahead of you, certainly a small portion of it can used for someone else.
After walking for a while, you and your father reach the slushy fields. As the snow has basically melted all the way by now, it has left the fields in a sorry state filled with mud that can fully capture a boot if you aren’t careful of where you step.
You walk past the fields and arrive at a shoddily built structure. It’s a large wooden building with several planks missing altogether, and the roof is most definitely leaking.
“Didn’t I fix that darned thing last year?” your father sighs as he enters through the loosely swinging door.
A waft of “money”, as your father describes it, embraces you with its smell as you step inside the barn. Inside, a series of pens separate a variety of different animals. In a similar fashion to the building itself, it is clearly not built by a master craftsman, but it does the trick. Sheeps, cows, and pigs are happily chattering away from their separated pens.
“Morning, you beauties!” your father exclaims as he walk closer to the animals. “Had a good night, Alma? Did you have nightmares again, Thorsten, old boy? How’s the knee, Brigitte?” Thorkell continues chattering away happily with every animal, addressing each of the 20 animals in the barn by name.
You sigh again and move towards a haybale which is stacked in the corner of the barn, grabbing a pitchfork on the way there. With a practiced strike, you move equal parts of hay to every animal pen, where the animals greedily start munching on their delicious breakfast.
Making short work of moving the hay, there is now plenty of time to idle as your father is still chatting to the animals. This is a ritual of his, and according to him this improves the quality of their produce significantly. You lean against the wall next to a plank which has been pried away by the harsh storms this winter. Through the gap, you can see the dark, looming forest which you are absolutely forbidden from entering. Apparently, that part of the forest houses spirits of old and beasts you can’t even begin to imagine exist in this world. Or so your mother and father say, at least. During olden times when practicing magic and the use of aura was still allowed in the lands, the dark forest was a hunting ground, and the monster parts were a valuable export for the kingdom. But ever since the new king seized control of the kingdom after the last civil war, practicing magic and aura became banned for everyone except for the closest allies of the king. All the tomes containing even an inkling of magic were either burned or locked away somewhere in the king’s castle for “safekeeping”.
Interrupting your thoughts, the door to the barn swings up.
“Big brother! Papa! Bweakfast!” exclaims your little sister Saga as she bursts through the door, out of breath. So excited to deliver this very important message from her mother, she stumbles on the last word. Tears start to well up inside the young girl, as she has failed in this most important task. And so spectacularly has she failed!
You and your father both stop what you’re doing and move toward Saga, who is on the verge of tears. You latch onto one of her hands as your father grabs the other and begin to walk outside.
“Well, then, we mustn’t keep your mother waiting, eh?” you father says with a beaming smile.
The three of you set out on the muddy path once more, but this time in a light skip as you swing your little sister back and forth.
“Water! We need water!” Saga suddenly yells out in realisation.
“Oh, the quest continues then,” you say with excitement.
After a small detour to the well, you, your father, and little sister all arrive back at the house. A smell of fresh bread and the warmth of the fire overtake your senses as you step inside the house.
“I got water and men, just as you said, mother!” Saga says happily.
“So you did. Good work, little one,” Idunn answers with a smile as she pets Saga on the head. She turns her attention back at her work and resumes cutting the bread she has laid out on a small table that was earlier tucked away in a corner of the house.
Your father walks up to his wife and gives her a kiss on the lips while embracing her from behind, whispering adult things that you are too young to understand. Dried fruit is placed on a bigger table next to the two disgusting adults, placed in a large bowl at the centre of the table. Around it are four smaller bowls, placed with equal distance in between them. In the middle is a simple iron pot with stew containing yesterday’s fish, potatoes, and some vegetables that were all leftovers from yesterday’s dinner. You pull out a chair and sit down while everybody else follows suit. You take a piece of bread and a ladle of soup and merrily chat with your family about mundane things while eating breakfast.