The sky was comely at the moment. The light of the late morning danced among the clouds. Small beams of light intermixed with rays on the swollen clouds. The wind blew calmly, just enough to take away some of the heat given off by the celestial body of fire. Days like this were common in the valley, something one looked forward to but never gave it the attention that was due. In the background, sounds of the joyous laughter of children at play and the conversations of adults brought a gentle din of life to the region. The small market had farmers selling their livelihood, squeezing coin and favor from their neighbors. The town center was abuzz with satisfaction of a good season. The final harvest would come soon. With it came trade and festivities, something that made everyone was excited.
A short jot away, a young man was at work. Before him a log lay secured on sawhorses, branches already shorn off and bark partially removed. He held a draw knife in both hands while stripping the log in practiced strokes. He whistled an unrecognizable tune while he worked. Pieces of bark attached themselves to his rough clothing, some getting in his hair. A few managed to sneak their way under the seams, causing him to absentmindedly stop to dislodge and scratch himself every so often. He diligently removed the bark until all that shown was sapwood. Setting his tool aside, he gave the log a cursory inspection before pushing it off the sawhorse. It landed with a dull beat, rolling a short distance towards other logs in similar states of undress. This was the last he needed to finish before lunch and hopefully a nap in the shade of a nearby tree. He took a moment take a deep breath and stretch out. His arms and shoulders stiff from the repetitive motions.
He walked over to the well and drew up a bucket. Water glistened and splashed as the pulley jerkingly brought his prize. He placed the bucket on the edge of the well. Using the ladle, he took a several long drinks until he felt satiated. He stood for a moment, looking into the bucket. Peering back was a sunkissed tanned youth. His curly black hair was wild upon his head, unkempt and filled with detritus from his recent activities. He took moment to shake out the bits from his hair before upending the bucket over his head. The cool water was revitalizing on his scalp, helping him feel more of the wind passing him by. He dropped the bucket back in the well and wiped his face on his shirt, getting the water and sweat out of his eyes. He stood up, his face once again in full view of the sky.
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He was a handsome guy for a farmer’s get. He did not take after his father, a stocky man with a belly barely held in by his shirt. All of his brothers were of the same stature, him being the only one who took after his mother. When they were kids, they liked to mess with him because of that. Luckily, he was faster than them. Not at first. Those first few years he took quite the lickings, but eventually they stopped being able to keep up. He was the fifth of seven children, his father somehow managing to keep making more despite his size. What mother had seen in him, he would never understand.
Being the fifth child meant there was not enough land to go around after splitting it with the four oldest. Not that he had wanted to be a farmer anyway. Animals stank to the high heavens. No, as soon as he was old enough for an apprenticeship, he went to work for Mr. O’Shaghennesy (name pending). He liked working with his hands, making useful things for the community. A carpenter was a solid profession. People always wanted to be friends with the guy who could make them a house or two. It was not easy at first, a scrawny preteen chopping firewood and dragging logs about, but he had managed. In time, he had gotten pretty good.
“Jimmothy (name pending), are you done?” called out the old man curtly in his usual tone. Mr. O’Shaghennesy had been old when Jimmothy’s parents were children. He was getting on in years but still had the skills of an experienced craftsman.
“I just finished up. The last one took some effort with all of them burls on it.” Jimmothy headed over to the old man quickly. He did not like to have to raise his voice and was much too fond of using his handy ruler to make his ire known.
“Good,” was all he said before turning back into the house.