Shloosh.
A wooden bucket, hollowed from a single log, plunges into the well. Water splashes and bubbles as it fills. The well's stone walls shimmer in the midday sun, casting wobbly rays that dance across the surface. One catches the blue eyes of a young boy.
He squints, frowning so deeply it seems his expression might freeze. His teeth clench; jaw muscles shift under the strain.
He glimpses his disfigured reflection in the water, and irritation deepens. The sunlight glares hotter. Unable to bear it, he looks away. Beyond the well stretches a vast orchard; to the left, a barn stands nearly two acres distant, housing sheep.
Tsk.
He clicks his tongue. The beauty of the scene means nothing. Orchard, barn, livestock—empty to him.
Glug-glug-glug.
The bucket rises from the well. Cold indifference in his eyes, he grips the rope and pulls. The weight strains his arms; grunts escape his lips. Finally, the bucket reaches the curb, metal hoops in hand.
"I should've never been born first. Why must the eldest bear the burden? Why always me?"
His voice is bitter, tired. Sighing, he shifts the full bucket closer to the empty one at the well's base. Tilting it carefully, he begins to pour—when a fly darts into his left nostril.
Startled, he jerks back. The fly grazes inside his nose, enough to make him swat instinctively. The bucket tips, water splashing onto parched soil.
"Aiboi!"
He curses, watching the water vanish. A deep, grieving sigh follows.
"Sigh… I hate doing this…"
He gazes at the sky. A single triangular cloud drifts across the blue expanse. The spilled water steams faintly as it soaks into the ground. He picks up the bucket, sets both upright, and tosses the empty one back into the well.
Shloosh.
Sweat beads his brow. He wipes it with his left hand, brushing a stray blond lock from his face. The sun is unbearable.
"Maybe I should've worn my chiton today… it's so damn warm."
His robe, stained brown from dirt, clings to him. The bucket fills slowly; a faint breeze stirs the air.
***
"Ma, where's big brother?"
A toddler sits on the packed-earth floor, watching her mother cook. The main door stands open, waiting.
"Brother Daniil will bring the water I need for cooking, dear," replies her mother, stoking the flames of a clay stove with a pipe. She adjusts her himation as she stirs a chytra.
Alexia, the middle child, rises from the doorstep and sits beside her sister.
"Brother Daniil is very hardworking. You should learn from him, Agapi," she says, trying to sound wise.
Agapi narrows her eyes.
"You should learn too, sister. You laze around while brother works hard…"
Alexia grins mischievously. "I-I'm sorry, sis—"
Before Agapi can respond, Alexia lunges, tickling her. The toddler erupts in laughter.
"S-Stop! Sister, ahahaha~"
"Can't stop now! Here, here!" Alexia teases. Agapi flails, kicking until she bumps a small bronze bowl. The clang draws their mother's attention.
"Both of you! Can you settle down?!"
The girls freeze, exchange guilty looks, and stifle giggles.
"I want complete silence!" their mother warns. They nod, eyes on the back of her head. She stirs the food, adjusting her himation, a woman of noble bearing content with a quiet farmer's life.
***
Huffing, Daniil carries a bucket in each hand, muscles straining. He grits his teeth, counting steps to the front door.
"Just a little further. Hold on."
The sun blazes; sweat drips down his face. "Argh!" he groans, lifting the weight again. A corner of his robe wipes his brow.
Rounding the house, he hears his mother call: "I want complete silence!"
Setting the buckets down, he enters. "Daniil! You're back already? Good."
He bows slightly so his mother can pat his head. Relief washes over him.
"Thank you, son. Thanks for your hard work," she says softly.
His younger sisters rush to him, wrapping their arms around his waist.
"Thank you, big brother!"
Daniil smiles, drenched in sweat, robe soaked through. He gestures at his sisters' hands.
"Look, I'm filthy. Go wash yours—covered in my sweat."
They release him, glance at their hands, and simply wipe them on their clothes, giggling.
"It's not a big deal!" Agapi beams, the picture of innocence.