We exited the shop and stepped back onto the snowy street. The cold nipped at my nose again, but the stop at the workshop had left me feeling warm. I clutched the wooden Flit tight against my chest.
We made our way down the bustling main street toward the building with the bread sign.
Sylvia pushed through the heavy door of the bakery.
The smell hit us instantly. It was a physical wall of sugar, butter, and toasted flour. It was intoxicating. After a year of breast milk and bland, mashed vegetables, the scent was enough to make my mouth water instantly.
Behind the wooden counter stood a man who looked like he enjoyed his own product. He was on the heavier side, with a round, jovial face and a shock of bright red hair that looked like a flame.
The moment he saw us, his face split into a wide grin.
"Sylvia! Long time no see."
Sylvia adjusted me on her hip, moving closer to the display case filled with loaves. "It hasn't been that long, has it? This is Percival. Today is his first birthday."
The baker's eyes widened. He leaned over the counter to get a better look at me.
"First birthday, eh?"
He beamed at me, then his eyes dropped to the toy clutched in my mittens.
"What do you have there? Is that a little wooden Flit? Roxas does good work."
My brow furrowed under my hat. Wait. He knows what a Flit is?
So it wasn't just a made-up creature Roxas invented for a story. Or maybe it's a story based on this village's spirit or something?
The baker turned to the shelves behind him, grabbing a sack of flour. He placed it on the counter, then paused. He reached into a glass case on the counter. He pulled out a small, delicate pastry dusted in white sugar.
"Here's your flour. And this... is on the house. For the birthday boy."
"Oh, you don't have to do that," Sylvia says, though she's smiling.
"I insist. Take it."
"Thank you. You are too kind." Sylvia bowed her head slightly, accepting the flour and the treat.
"Anytime. You guys get home safe, alright?"
We stepped back out into the cold. The afternoon was wearing on now. The sun had begun its descent, casting long, purple shadows across the snow, though the sky was still bright enough to see clearly. The "golden hour" light reflected off the icicles hanging from the roofs, turning the village into a glittering wonderland.
We made our way back down the path, leaving the village center behind.
As we passed the scattered cottages on the outskirts, I watched the world go by. The village was winding down. I saw a man near a woodpile, swinging an axe to split logs for the night's fire. Further down, a woman was hurrying across her yard, carrying buckets of water from a well, her breath misting in the air.
Life here was simple. It was hard. There were no machines to do the work for you. If you wanted heat, you chopped wood. If you wanted water, you carried it. But there was a beauty in that simplicity. A connection to the earth that I had never felt in the concrete jungle of Tokyo.
Finally, our sturdy cottage came into view. Sylvia navigated the front path, unlocked the door, and we spilled inside.
The warmth wrapped around us like a blanket. The fire in the hearth was still going strong, having burned down to a bed of hot, glowing coals that radiated heat throughout the room. It was infinitely cozier than the biting chill outside.
Sylvia set the flour down on the kitchen table. She immediately started stripping off my layers. Off came the wool hat, then the scarf, and finally the puffy coat.
I wiggled my arms, sighing in relief. Freedom.
She carried me over to the rug near the fire and sat down, pulling the pastry out of the bag.
"Here you go, Percy."
I dropped the wooden Flit onto the rug and reached out with both hands. My coordination was still terrible, but my motivation was at an all-time high.
The pastry was beautiful. It was golden brown, flaky, and covered in a generous dusting of powdered sugar. Red filling peeked out from the sides like jewels.
I took a bite.
Oh my god.
The crust crumbled against my gums, buttery and light. Then the flavor hit me. Strawberry. But not the artificial, sugary candy flavor from my old life. This was sharp, tart, and incredibly authentic. It was sweetness concentrated. It was the taste of summer preserved in jam, exploding in my mouth.
My eyes went wide. I chewed happily, letting out a satisfied hu m. I looked up and gave a huge, messy smile to my mother, crumbs falling down my chin.
She laughed, breaking off a piece for herself. "Mmmm. You like the pastry, don't you, Percy?"
She fed me another piece, then ate the last bite herself, licking the sugar off her thumb.
"I gotta hold back sometimes. Don't want to get too chubby." She flashed that beautiful, radiant smile.
Suddenly, the heavy thud of the front door latch echoed through the house.
"I'm home."
Roxas walked in, bringing a gust of cold air with him. He stomped the snow off his boots on the mat and began peeling off his heavy work tunic and outer layers. He walked over to the living area, rubbing his hands together to warm them up.
"How was the trip?"
"It was good. We got a birthday treat from the baker."
Roxas dropped onto the couch behind us, the frame groaning comfortably under his weight. He leaned down to ruffle my dirty blonde hair.
"Is that so? Happy birthday, kid."
I looked up at him, still tasting the lingering sweetness of the strawberry. I patted my stomach with a satisfied sigh.
This was a good day. A solid start to this new life.