Inside of a small living room, which could honestly be classified as quite comfortable for living, sat a young boy, barely above twelve.
He had bright brown hair, which could be almost confused for blond.
His clothes were made from a heavier fabric, resembling a gambeson, yet it couldn't truly help him fight off the cold temperature.
("Hm, I guess I'll prepare some firewood for warmth.")
Slowly, he looked through the wooden window, through which a bit of the cold air was gushing in, his dimly blue eyes reflecting back.
Outside, there were signs of early snow, with it endlessly falling, gently coating everything in sight... This year winter came early, and that was never good…
Slowly, the young boy got up, and let out a small sigh, creating a cloud of visible mist.
then began to look around, until his eyes fell on an iron hatchet near a hearth.
It was rusted and chipped around the edges... Definitely seen some better days, but it was a perfect fit for chopping timber.
His eyes lit up slightly as he went over and took it, before turning around to look for something warm to put on.
Soon, he found several fur coats hanging near a recently extinguished hearth, where embers still had a slight glow.
In a quick manner, he found the one belonging to him, a smaller coat of white and grayish fur.
In his face, a small smile appeared, as he remembered one of his father's stories, how he singlehandedly killed the great wolf, and made a pelt out of him.
His eyes lingered for a few seconds, before he finally put on the coat and leather shoes, after which he took the hatchet into his hand and turned to leave.
A powerful gust of cold wind hit his face as soon as he opened the door, likely from the rising wind.
Arima reconsidered if he should even go if the weather was starting to worsen, before finally pulling up his furry hood, and going through the door.
The sun was shining dimly in the sky, its light barely protruding through the falling snow, which began to show signs of growing stronger.
His eyes stared into the sky, beforemotivating himself to finally get moving.
("Father must still be hunting…
I should probably hurry and finally prepare the wood. Going back to warm home should make him happy once he gets back...")
With a quick glance, he observed his surroundings, where he spent most, if not all of his life.
Behind him, was the home in which he was born, Its walls were thick, made from solid wood logs, and the visible foundation from Cobblestone.
It was partially buried in the ground, so the temperature would be easier to deal with, especially considering how each season took around one modern year to pass.
A bit farther away, there was a barn filled with food rations for the winter, and nearby a shed filled with stacks of timber and firewood.
As he walked to it, he glanced at the surrounding fence around his home. Although small, it did make it feel somewhat safer, more comfortable.
In a few short moments, he reached the shed, and began to try and open the door…
It valiantly refused to budge, with its rusted hinges barely doing their work.
The boy slightly cursed as he physically lifted the door, and opened it.
(" I swear, once father gets back, I'll try to convince him this door is better off burned…")
Once inside, the now harsh wind couldn't touch him anymore, as he only heard it's howling outside.
Looking inside, he saw rows of already prepared firewood, but, wishing to add some exercise to warm up, he took an unchopped block of wood, took a deep breath, and with a silent grunt began chopping wood.
In such a way, before he noticed it, he was sweating from top to bottom, being covered in dirt and mud.
He raised his eyes to look through a gap in the door.
At least several hours had passed already, with the sun starting to lower, as it was replaced by grayish colours of night.
Unfortunately, the wind didn't slow down its advance, only strengthened.
With a slightly worried expression, he silently muttered
"Shit, when did so much time pass…
Father should be back soon yet still no fire"
So, he put down the axe, grabbed the prepared firewood, and began carrying it back home, and before long, he was back near the Hearth, where he hung his coat, and began to light the fire.
In a few short moments, the timber began to burn, as a small, enchanting fire appeared in front of him, almost as if dancing in the hearth.
With the heat gently touching his face, almost entranced, he put one timber after another, and the fire proportionally grew.
Once he got out of his trance, he realized that home was already warm.
He took a glance outside the window, the snow had begun to pick up, and dark was starting to set in.
With a worried heart, he silently prayed to soon see his father back safely.
("My father still isn't back...
Should I maybe go look for him ?
No no, father is a strong man, he most definitely wouldn't need my help, I'd only be dead weight.")
Yet, without control, his thoughts didn't listen, making him remember things he didn't want to. The grave of his mother, where he and father visited once in a while…
A few more silent moments passed as the wind screamed outside, which the boy already grew used to.
("I should have gone with him, at the very least, I could have helped him out a bit… He did promise to take me hunting…
No, stop, don't think that, he is definitely alright...")
The boy looked at the fire, slowly crackling on the surface, bringing in a warm red light.
"Well, at least he will be warm once he gets back, that is if he does..."
Finally, not being able to take it, he walked closer to one of the windows, and looked directly at the dark, gloomy forest,
silently stretching into the distance.
His eyes starting to show deeper signs of worry.
("He already has been missing for over a day, but he also told me to wait... This isn't the first time, but the weather is horrible…
I don't want to lose him too…")
Feeling his body start to feel weak and eyes getting dry, he slowly turned away from the window, took his Woolen blanket, threw in a few more timber sticks into the flames, and went to sleep… Hoping that maybe tomorrow, his father will already be back home.
Yet, sleep didn't claim him.
He spent a long time uncomfortably moving around, his eyes unable to close.
With fire slowly turning to embers, the warmth also began to drop, albeit still slowly. Until finally, once he curled up in his blanket, he managed to fall asleep.
He dreamt of the cold wind, darkness of night, oppressing nature of a dark forest. He felt hunted, yet unable to escape.
He ran through the forest, until he heard a silent voice call out his name, although its source got lost in the wind.
"Father ?" He whispered, yet no voice answered, only the howls of wind, and the feeling of being watched by a predator.
When suddenly, he felt as if a great beast was behind him, yet before it could do anything, the boy jumped awake…
His heart racing, eyes darting, breath ragged from the restless dream.
A quick glance out the window told it was still dark, a quick look into the hearth showed that even the embers already burnt out, replaced by ash.
Catching his breath, he steeled his resolve, and decided to do something truly idiotic.
He went into his fathers room as the winds raged outside, before using most of his strength to pull out a heavy wooden chest.
With a small knock, the lock loosened up, and even if it took considerable effort, he opened the chest, finding exactly what he wished to.
A medium length sword, thick and sharp blade, short but agile handle, with the blade slightly resembling that of a thin leaf.
Deciding there is no time to waste, the boy took the sword into his hand, and looked around for a flask for water, in case his journey lasted, yet his preparations were stopped early.
He heard someone from outside open the door, and go inside, producing sounds of heavy footsteps.
The boy's mind couldn't help but wonder, maybe the person inside was his father ?
But what if it's a criminal, should he fight or hide ?
Finally, grasping the sword, he decided to peek out of the door, where he saw something that made his heart skip a beat.