As the first rays of dawn caressed the coffee farm, Joe bleary-eyed, hauled himself out of bed. One leg in, one leg out, he trudged towards the outside campfire, dreaming of his dwindling stash of morning coffee.

Sparking the embers of last night's fire, he put the kettle on to boil, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he slid the old iron pot onto the makeshift hearth. Inside the pot went his precious coffee beans, dark and aromatic. As the fire crackled and hissed, he found himself mesmerized by the dancing flames, their warmth a promise of the rich, hearty brew that was soon to come. It was in this humble setting, under the soft morning light, that Joe found a sense of peace, a slice of life steeped in the simple pleasure of preparing his daily coffee.

Cupping the handful of beans, Joe weighed them carefully in his palm. His brow furrowed as he calculated. 'Three days,' he mumbled to himself, 'give or take.' With a sigh, he looked at the beans, their dark, glossy surface glinting in the morning light. He loved his morning ritual, the comforting routine of brewing his coffee. The idea of going a day without it was unthinkable. A sly grin crept onto his face as a cunning plan formed in his mind. 'Rationing.' he said out loud, nodding in approval, 'I'll need to start rationing my beans.' He chuckled at the thought.

Maybe he could learn to like Chicsum? The thought of the old man in the fields chewing the root flashed through his head.

No.

He would find the path.

As the first whispers of steam began to rise from the kettle, Joe tipped in his carefully weighed beans, listening to the satisfying soft 'clink' as they hit the bottom. He reached for his trusty old spoon, stirring the contents gently, allowing the heat to coax out the rich, heady aroma that was the lifeblood of his mornings.

Adjusting the kettle over the fire, he let the brew percolate, the soft bubbling sounds serving as a comforting background melody to his thoughts. He leaned back, hands clasped behind his head as he began to appreciate the beauty of his surroundings.

The brewing new coffee farm was overlooked the city of Chicory Harbour below. The early morning sun painted the landscape with a delicate, golden glow, reflecting off dew-kissed leaves and casting long, dancing shadows. He found himself marvelling at the vibrant hues of the local flora, the way the light sifted through the canopy, creating a dazzling mosaic of light and shadow.

He couldn't deny that this new world he found himself in was harsh, demanding. Yet, in these quiet moments, in the stillness of the dawn, he discovered an unexpected sense of tranquillity. This world, rough and untamed as it was, possessed a raw, simplistic beauty that stirred something within him. It was in these fleeting moments of peace, savoring his slowly percolating brew, that Joe found a sense of belonging, an unexpected comfort in this new world.

Just as Joe had settled into his reverie, the gentle peace of the morning was punctuated by the unmistakable sound of a goat's bleat. Turning towards the source of the commotion, he saw Gruff. Gruff stood there, his majestic horns catching the first light of the day, eyes gleaming with a wisdom that belied his caprine form. Gruff bowed low and placed his tin can next to the percolating coffee cannister.

'Good morning, Gruff,' greeted Joe, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face. In this wild, new world, the ceremonious goats were one of the strange yet amusing spectacles he had come to anticipate. He returned their bow with a slight nod, maintaining the decorum of this unique hillside assembly. This, he mused, might be the best way to start his morning: not only with a pot of coffee but also with a side of caprine diplomacy.

With the practiced ease of an everyday ritual, Joe lifted the now steaming kettle, its spout unleashing a cloud of richly scented steam. He then painstakingly poured the fragrant black liquid into two waiting cups. The ceramic of his cup warmed his fingers, lulling him with a familiar sensation – a remnant of his bygone world. The second cup, a rugged, tin one, was reserved for his unusual companion.

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'Here you go Gruff,' said Joe, extending the tin cup towards the goat. Gruff inclined his head, a gesture that Joe had come to interpret as a thank you in their unspoken language. As the goat gingerly lapped up the coffee, Joe couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. Facing the rising sun, he sipped on his own cup, the bitter notes dancing on his tongue. Sharing a cup of morning coffee with a goat – this wild new world was filled with endless surprises – and Joe found himself unexpectedly content.

Suddenly, Gruff let out another resonant bleat, this one echoing across the tranquil valley. Joe, having just taken another sip of his coffee, looked up in surprise. From the gradually brightening treeline, two more figures emerged, their silhouettes growing clearer as they approached.

The first was a middle-sized goat, nimble on its feet despite the jagged, broken horn adorning one side of its head. The other was a small goat, its coat so dark that it seemed to absorb the dawn light, giving it an almost mystical appearance. The two newcomers paused momentarily at the edge of the clearing, their eyes reflecting the morning sun before they ventured closer to the campfire.

'Ah, more guests,' Joe chuckled softly, setting his cup down and rising to greet the new arrivals. He looked at the broken horn of the larger goat and the unusual hue of the smaller one. In this wild world, even the goats had their own stories to tell. With a welcoming nod, he fetched two more tin cups, preparing to expand his morning ritual to accommodate the growing audience.

Joe couldn't help but laugh as he noticed both new arrivals carrying their own battered tin cans. Each goat, in their own charmingly whimsical manner, trotted over to the large rock where the coffee was brewing. With a gracefulness that contradicted their ungainly movements, they set down their cans next to Gruff’s. Each of them then performed a bow, their forelegs curling under them as their heads dipped low.

'Well, I'll be,' Joe muttered to himself, a broad smile stretching across his face. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on him, yet it added a charm to this new world.]It was surreal, delightful, and for Joe, it was the kind of camaraderie that made mornings in this strange land a little more bearable. He nodded in return, acknowledging their gesture as he reached for the kettle to fill their cans with the freshly brewed coffee. Briefly he weighed the remaining beans in his pocket and then decided to use them.

What was coffee for if not sharing with new friends?

And he had new beans growing. The mountain would provide....eventually.

Joe let the beans percolate, the new goats watching warily. Occasionally one would lean forward before Gruff bleated at them and they stepped back. The two younger goats eyed Gruff with a mixture of respect and irritation.

After a while, the coffee was ready. The aroma filled the air, a delightful mixture of warm, roasted beans and the crisp morning dew. Joe, with the easy familiarity of someone who had found a new routine in an unexpected place, stood up and went to each of the new goats in turn. He held the steaming kettle over the first tin can, the dark liquid flowing smoothly into the container.

'Here you go, mate,' he said to the middle-sized goat, the light catching on its broken horn. The goat eyed him curiously, its gaze shifting between Joe and the coffee. Once he was done, Joe moved on to the next tin can, the small goat stepping back slightly as he approached.

'And one for you,' he said, the steam from the coffee mingling with the chill morning air. The goat stared at the tin can for a moment before approaching cautiously and dipping its head to take a tentative sip.

'We'll have to think of some names for you two.' Joe said, sipping his brew and gazing at the treeline. Two...toucans, this world had toucans, how neat, flitted out of the treeline studying them.

They were probably friendly blokes, maybe he could get them to guard his coffee plants? He turned to Gruff.

'What do you think, Gruff?' Joe asked the old goat, tilting his head towards the birds. 'Guard duty for these toucans?'

Before Gruff could respond, he stamped his foot hard against the ground. The sudden movement startled the toucans, causing them to swiftly take flight, their vibrant feathers flashing in the morning light as they disappeared back into the treeline. Joe watched them go, a chuckle escaping his lips.

'Well, I guess that answers that question,' he mused, taking another sip of his coffee. His eyes wandered back to the two new goats, who were now quietly enjoying their share of the morning brew. 'Guess it's just you, me, and the coffee beans, then.'

Now, what to name them?