If we could gather the right materials, and if she had enough time and practice, she might be able to sew something sturdier, warmer, and less… scratchy.
After switching into my outdoor slippers, I reached for the nearest cloak hanging by the door.
The fabric was coarse and worn thin in places, barely offering any real protection from the cold, but it was better than stepping out without anything at all. I wrapped it tightly around myself, tucking the frayed edges in with practiced ease.
Then, with a quick glance around, I slipped out the door quietly, careful not to let it creak too loudly behind me. The chill bit at my face immediately, but I pressed forward.
Recalling the original Lan'er's memories was a dull affair. Because of her frail health, the girl had spent nearly her entire life confined indoors.
She had never even stepped near the forest's edge, let alone explored beyond it. To her, the outside world existed only through windows and secondhand stories.
However, since Father was a hunter and often recounted his routes, observations, and even the condition of the trails to Mother after returning from his hunts, it wasn't difficult for me to figure out which path snaked quietly toward the forest.
Over the years, I had listened to enough of their conversations, to piece together the small, less-trodden trails that he preferred. One of them wound discreetly behind the far side of our field, just beyond a crooked fence post and a patch of hardy shrubs.
It wasn't the main road, the one children used to run wild in and old aunties gathered near to gossip over peeled vegetables.
No, this was a quiet, almost forgotten trail that bypassed the village entirely. If I followed it, I could slip away without alerting anyone, without curious eyes or awkward questions.
Soon, I reached the edge of the forest, just a little farther than where the village children usually played their games of chase and pretend sword fights.
The laughter and mischief never quite reached this part, though it was still considered the forest's boundary by the adults. To them, as long as one's feet hadn't crossed into the thick brush or shaded undergrowth, it was still 'safe.'
But here, where the trees leaned closer and the wind carried a different scent, damper, earthier, it already felt like I had one foot in another world.
"Master!" Green's voice chimed the moment I peeked past the veil of branches into the forest.
"Yeah?" I called back, already taking slow, deliberate steps forward, my feet inching beyond the invisible line that marked the so-called 'edge of the forest.'
The light shifted subtly. Shadows tangled around my ankles as I pressed further in.
"I would like to remind the master that anything and everything can be planted in the space," Green's voice almost carried a tone as if she was prompting me to remember something.
I paused, brows knitting. "Yeah… I know that," I murmured, more to myself than her. But she only sighed.
"Master, this is a reminder to you," Green said again, her tone taking on the same seriousness that caught my attention earlier, "that even if you bring back a twig from a tree, a single dried seed of a fruit, or even just one leaf of a herb… in the farming space, it would still grow and evolve into something wonderful within hours!"
I slowed my steps as realization dawned.
"Oh!"So that's what she meant. She wasn't just talking nonsense, she was nudging me to stop walking around empty-handed and start gathering. The space was barren. She wanted me to change that.
"Of course I knew that!" I huffed in embarrassment, unable to stop myself from retorting like a guilty child caught slacking off.
Even without seeing her, I could practically feel Green rolling her tiny fairy eyes at me.
"Really? It seemed like Master was more interested in exploring than farming to me," she grumbled under her breath, her voice thick with sarcasm.
I didn't bother replying. What was the point? Arguing with Green was like trying to win an argument with a cat, pointless and only serving to bruise my own pride.
I stepped past the tangled shrubs that crept from the forest's edge like curious fingers, brushing against my legs as if to warn me, or welcome me.
At last, I entered the woods. The air here was different, crisp, untouched, and pure in a way no city could ever replicate.
With every breath, I felt my lungs cleanse themselves of another layer of the past life's dust. It was as if I had been reborn under the canopy of ancient trees, where even the wind whispered stories older than memory. I was grateful, that I had been given a chance to feel this in this lifetime.
Without wasting any time, I lowered my gaze to the forest floor, where a thick carpet of dried leaves blanketed the earth, muffling even the sound of my own footsteps.
Each step stirred the scent of damp soil and old wood. When I tilted my head upward, I was met with a canopy so dense that sunlight could barely trickle through, the leaves above clustering together like an unbroken sea of green.
The few beams that did manage to pierce through painted shifting patterns on the ground, soft, fleeting.
Still, even though it was early in the morning, the forest was surprisingly dim. The thick canopy overhead let in only thin slivers of sunlight, and those too seemed to get swallowed by the heavy layering of leaves.
The deeper I went, the more muffled the world became. The chirps of birds turned distant, the hum of village life faded completely, and the only sounds left were the soft crunch of my feet against the forest floor and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures hiding among the undergrowth.
I felt oddly at peace, as if the forest itself was wrapping me in a muted embrace.
The air here was sharp and earthy, filled with the scent of damp moss, old bark, and something faintly sweet I couldn't quite place. It was so different from the sterilized, polluted atmosphere of the modern world I came from. Here, the air felt alive.