The forest was filled with a quiet emptiness. Snow had fallen earlier in the day, coating the trees, and leaving the area blanketed in white. Few animals remained in the forest, having chosen to hibernate or move to warmer areas. Then, a tree toppled, causing one of the few sounds in the forest.
The echoing crash of the falling tree shattered the serene stillness that had enveloped the forest. Snowflakes dislodged from nearby branches and danced in the air before gently settling back to the ground. The forest seemed to hold its breath as if shocked by the intrusion into its hushed tranquility.
Elias looked over the tree. Its trunk was now on its side due to his strikes and the added weight of the snow. With quiet footsteps padded by the thick layer of snow, he approached with his axe in hand. He brushed the snow out of his silver hair which started to grow white streaks. The hair was tied up in a simple bun.
When Elias was ready he started to strike at the rest of the wood. Each piercing the wood at the point where he wants to. The cuts are quick and only after a practiced breath. Only two strikes are needed to separate a new cylindrical piece of wood. Each is of roughly equal size. When encountering branches and the twigs that have already fallen off they only require one slash of his axe. They begin to fill his cart off to the side. When the canopy was finished with its cutting, Elias turned to the rest of the trunk. After separating the trunk into equal pieces, he started to stack them in a few piles. He estimated the piles to be the maximum weight that he and the cart could haul back to his cottage.
Next, he separated a few of the cylinders of wood. He laid them flat and in a line in preparation for his axe. The strikes were once again down the middle of the wood. The exertion helped to warm his body. His breath was steady through the process. Each piece split in two after a swing and then was thrown into the cart. Elias cut through a dozen logs before feeling satisfied. Wiping some sweat off his brow he sleeved his axe and turned to the cart.
With well-crafted wheels, the cart spun easily as Elias began to pull. Its path followed the wheel lines of the times he had come to visit this area of the forest before. On the way back he passed the stumps of trees he had felled before. His efforts had created a wide clearing that was filled with wild grasses and flowers come springtime. Snow hit his nose before he noticed that it had been falling around him.
“Better hurry back. There better not be another blizzard this winter. It has been miserable enough already.”
With a quick motion, Elias brought his cart closer to his body giving him more leverage. Then he started to hurry back to his warm home.
Elias trudged through the snow-covered path, his boots leaving deep imprints in the pristine white blanket beneath him. Nestled at the forest's edge, the cottage's cozy chimney released a thin wisp of smoke into the crisp, cold air. Smoke signaled warmth, and warmth was what Elias craved after a long day of wood chopping.
Elias guided the cart to the front of the cottage and secured it in place. He could already imagine the crackling fire in the hearth, the aroma of a hot meal wafting from the kitchen, and the soothing warmth of his well-worn armchair.
Just as he was about to head inside, he noticed a small envelope on the doorstep. It was an unusual sight, as he rarely received mail in this remote corner of the forest. Elias bent down, his gloved fingers brushing the snow away to reveal the envelope's surface. It was old, yellowed with age, and bore no return address. His curiosity piqued, he picked it up and carefully tore it open.
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Inside, a single sheet of paper awaited him. The handwriting was elegant, flowing like a river, and it read:
“Dear Elias, I hope that you have done well away from the blade and your duties. Time, however, marches on and I invoke your oath. The new hero needs your skills and training. You know where to meet. Do not disappoint.
-M”
“Shit,” muttered Elias, crumpling the paper into a ball.
Opening the door, he stepped inside not bothering to remove his snow-packed shoes. Marching over to the fireplace he threw the paper in the open flame.
“Eli. What is wrong?” asked a woman stepping out into the living room. She examined the scowl on his face and the now burning letter. “Just because you received bad news doesn’t mean that you can’t walk in here without cleaning yourself off.”
Elias looked down at his wet shoes that had started to make a trail to the door. “I’m sorry my love. I’ll start cleaning this up.”
“You can do that and more. Now tell me what message you have received.”
“Marcus has sent his letter,” Elias answered matter-of-factly. “I must leave today. I am sorry Grace.”
Grace frowned putting her hands behind her sundress but looked him in the eyes. “If it must be so then I won’t stop you. I knew when I married you that this day might come. I just hoped that the day in question would never come to pass. Start to gather your things. I will head to the stables and prepare your horse. Do not take long. You should be able to get into town by nightfall.”
At her declaration, they started to prepare for the journey.
Elias nodded, a mixture of determination and sadness in his eyes. He turned away from Grace, who retreated into the kitchen and headed towards their bedroom to prepare for his departure. Entering the dimly lit room, he felt the weight of the impending journey bear down on him.
His eyes fell on the battered old wooden chest at the foot of their bed. It was a weathered relic from his past, carrying the marks of countless adventures. Elias knelt beside it, his fingers brushing over the intricate carvings on its surface.
Elias opened the chest and began carefully selecting the items he would need for his journey. Among them was his sword, a finely crafted weapon with a hilt that had seen better days. The worn and faded leather-wrapped grip evidenced years of battles and training. The hilt bore the scars of countless clashes, and the pommel had a dent from a particularly fierce duel with a rival swordsman.
Elias didn’t inspect the blade. He knew what was inside and secured it to his belt. Elias knew that he would need its protection on the journey ahead. He also packed a few essential supplies, a change of clothes, and a small pouch of coins.
As he finished preparing his bag, Grace returned to the room carrying a leather saddlebag. She looked at Elias with a mixture of concern and determination. "Your horse is ready, and I've packed some provisions for you," she said, her voice soft but resolute.
Elias rose to his feet, his bag slung over his shoulder, and took Grace’s hand in his. "I promise I'll return to you as soon as I can," he said, his voice filled with love and determination.
Grace nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'll be waiting for you," she replied, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
With a final, lingering kiss, Elias left their home, the weight of his sword and the knowledge of the journey ahead heavy on his shoulders. He hurried outside where his horse Thunderstruck waited. The horse was tied up and was tugging at its reins anxiously. When it saw him it started to calm down but was annoyed at being put outside.
“I know. I know. You don’t like to leave the stable these days, but I am going to need you to ride for a while,” he said while patting the chestnut horse. “It seems like adventure calls for us like the old days. Hopefully, we won’t have to run away from bandits like last time we crossed the valley.”
Elias gave Thunderstruck a reassuring pat on the neck before mounting him. The horse seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, and his usual restlessness subsided as he and Elias locked eyes, their unspoken bond strong as ever.
With a final glance back at their home, Elias spurred Thunderstruck forward, and they began their journey down the snow-covered trail. The wind howled around them, and snowflakes swirled in the air, Thunderstruck’s tracks quickly buried beneath.