A chill blew through an open window in the anal cabin. Derek Linch lay in his head gripping his blankets tightly. His eyes opened slightly drains from sleep. He sat up and walked over to the window still draped in the blanket.

The homestead was asleep still. Not even the rooster, Zacks, had woken up to alarm that morning had come. Derek saw the glow of the morning sun off the east end of the field showing the paths he had plowed the day before. His scarecrows arms flapping in the winds of the morning. To the west, he could make out the outline of the barn and chicken coop.

He closed the window and walked towards the fireplace. Embers shined as he moved the remains of last night's fire. With a few deep breaths, a small flame came to life. He grabbed a few twigs from the pile to the left and arranged them neatly on the flame.

The cabin brightened revealing all of its contents. Pots and pans were hooked onto the manual of the fire place. A barrel of water and the door to the right of the fire, a pile of small sticks and twigs and his boots carelessly tossed in the corner to the right. Behind him lay his unkempt bed with shoots of straw sticking out, a table with a large bowl and jug of water was set up next to it. On the far side of the room was a large table with books and papers scattered about, a shirt draped on the back of the chair. A shelf ran along the walls with containers holding spices, dried meets, and caned goods from last season.

He grabbed a pot, ladled some water into it and placed it on a hook above the fire. Steam slowly rose as the water began to boil. He walked over the his bed and tossed the blanket in a loose ball, and began to wash the sleep off his face. The water was like ice as he wiped it off. Reaching in the drawer, he found a small mirror and gassed at his reflection.

His skin was much darker now, with dry wrinkles from working in the summer sun. He had let this beard grow out over the winter, and he could see a red tint mixed on with the dirty bland. His hair was long but well kept held together by a thin rope at the base of his neck. His blue eyes still showed signs of sleep.

Setting the mirror down, Derek grabbed a jar off the shelf and a coffee cup, and walked to the now boiling pot. The pot calmed has he took it off the hook and set it on the stone slab. He spooned in his coffee, stirred the pot, and pored himself a cup instantly warming him.