Rick woke slowly, his eyes opening as if glued together by resin, staring up and beyond the canopy of the lightly covered trees, seeing the luminant orange fading in to replace the dark black of night. Rick stayed like that, watching the sun rising ever so slowly, brightening the early morning with its beautiful rays. Only deciding to move once his stomach grumbled in protest, forcing him to start the day.

With a strained push, he gently lifted himself, the flat grassland not doing wonders to his already battered back. A yawn worked its way up his throat, escaping soundlessly as Rick stretched, doing his best to work out the knots that somehow always settled in the same place.

Again, his stomach rumbled in protest, wanting food, being a nuisance, all the time, every day. He looked down on his stomach, thinking better than to hit it, but still thought bad things about it. Instead of pleasing it and giving in, Rick reached for his waterskin, moist from the morning dew, reminding him of how cold it was.

Taking a gulp, several big ones, he felt the morning wind rush past, caressing him like a long-lost lover. Shivers running up his spine, uncontrollable, unpleasant, but he was used to it. His stomach rumbled audibly, once again forcing his attention back to it. Rick turned his head down, looking neutral outwards, but inwards he was all but neutral, cursing his stupid stomach.

Reaching for his pack, he searched silently, bad-mouthing his ancestors for inheriting him such a bottomless pit. It was nothing but a pain, especially now that food was scarce. But eventually, he managed to fish out the last piece of meat, dried and cold, hard and tacky, it would have to do.

Nibbling on it, juicing it up in an effort to chew it, he searched the bag again. It was big, filled to the brim with stuff, stuff Rick couldn’t bring himself to toss, no matter how much they weighed him down. It took longer than expected to find what he was looking for, so he opened the pack wide, staring down in it with the little light the sun gave him.

Exposing statues upon statues. Wooden in nature, but intricately carved, details in the minutest of scales. Statues the size of fingers, size of hands, still with delicately carved eyes no bigger than the drop of a dew on a grass straw. All statues of varying degrees of damage, of detail, of love. All having two things in common, carved by Rick, and containing a rune of life, the uruz rune.

Pushing them aside, he reached the bottom, spotting something shimmering slightly from the morning sun. Rick immediately grabbed it, pulling out a worn knife, sharper than it let on, yet bigger than one would have assumed. Runes of varying meanings covered the blade, all out of Ricks understanding but seemed important.

With dried meat in his mouth, a knife in one hand and nothing in his second, he felt a need, a urge, to carve. And for just this occasion, he had already prepared a log of wood. No thicker than his forearm, no longer than his upper arm. The perfect size for what he wanted, for what he had imagined, for what he had pictured. It would not be easy, but wasn’t artistry naught but a road of hard twists and turns.

He started with the outline, doing long, careless strokes. From an outside perspective, they looked reckless, but were far from it. Rick knew what he was doing, years and years of practice being a huge boon in this endeavour. Once the outline was carved, he carved the finer details, the smaller parts, the things that gave his statues character, charm and form. It was also the most boring part, for it required attention, yet not the minute attention that Rick loved, nor was it the comforting monotonous work the beginning was were his mind could wander into his bravest of fantasies.

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It took time, was what it took. His dried piece of meat long gone in his stomach, the so called bottomless pit. The sun baring down at him, pumping heat to the best of its ability. But like all things, time will mend, will fix, and Rick finished the second step. He reached out with his arm, looking at the statue from a distance. His face was unreadable, a mask of nothing. Yet inside, he felt warm. It was turning out good, turning into something he felt he could be proud off.

Now it was time for the fun part, the details, the fantasy, the creativity. He carved shoes; He carved eyes; He carved freckles; He carved shadows. All for the purpose of making his creation more believable, more life-like. It would not be his best work, but it would be something he could be proud of, this he knew.

Like most things, it took time, but it was time well spent. Time spent doing what he loved was not time wasted. Even if he sat silently in the woods, stomach starting to protest once again, turning his focus from a razor-sharp knife into one of a slug. Rick decided he was done. He felt that he could have added more things, more details, but he didn’t want to risk destroying it due to being hungry.

Turning the statue around, he stared at it, searching for a place where the rune uruz wouldn’t interfere with the statue's natural beauty. A place that just so happened to fit underneath the statues heels, a place he usually avoided for its boring nature of not feeling like a natural extension of the statue. But this time it would have to do.

Carving the rune into place, he set it down in front of him, looking at it as if it was the first statue he had ever seen. Seeing a young little lady, no older than a kid, yet the little ladies face held such bright happiness that most would think her older. She held grace, diligent and beuty, but most importantly, intelligence. Behind those freckled eyes there was a deep understanding of this world, a princess of the highest caliber, she would rule her kingdom with true grace.

Rick’s eyes didn’t betray his feelings. He stared lazily at it. But within him there was a fire burning, one that told of passion and happiness, of pride and confidence. He reached for her, taking her in a light embrace, and let the life within him flow, flow down into the little princess.

With life flowing through her wooden exterior, the princess started shining, as if a beacon had been lit on the darkest of nights, as if the sun had turned brighter, as if the gods had blessed the land. Rick looked with glittering eyes, waiting patiently, staring with an eagerness bubbling onto surface, yet his face remained unchanging.

Then, just as abruptly as the light came, it ended. And Rick had to blink the tears away, almost missing the moment where the princess also blinked. But he hadn’t, he had seen it, and the princess continued blinking. Rick felt it building. He felt his emotions bubbling like ice in a fire, he waited with bated breath.

Turning his head, the princess did the same. Nodding up and down, the princess did the same. Waving his hand, the princess did the same. Standing up on shaky legs, the princess did the same. Walking forwards, the princess did the same. Grabbing his pack, the princess tried the same.

Rick felt it. He felt his emotions bubbling, then fading, his hopes draining with them. Today wasn’t his day it would seem. Yet another failure to add to his countless failures, yet another statue that held little meaning other than to look good. Rick felt disappointment. Disappointed that he had even wished for more, thought for more, it never changed, it might never change.

Gently, Rick picked up the little princess, placing her on his shoulder, the princess staring expectantly at Rick. And Rick motioned for the princess to sit, to stay still, to not move. And she did, obeying perfectly.

The two stared at each other, staring like lifeless dolls, like emotionless creatures, like men with holes instead of hearts. And then Rick flashed a smile, and the princess imitated. Rick’s was toothy; fake. The princess held warmth; genuine.

Rick stopped smiling. The princess continued. The two walking in a direction only Rick knew.