Chapter 3

I woke early the next morning, when the night still lingered in thesky, a slight grey flush glinting in the horizon over the tops of the trees.

I leaned on the windowsill, peering out into the dusky gardens, looking out out further and further, but all I could see was endless trees.

There were hundreds of legends about the forest, all of them as ludicrous as each other. Some suggested that it was haunted or enchanted, others were certain that it was home to some rather uncivilised pixies, who wore nothing but leaves and other plants, sewn together to make beautiful outfits.

I disregarded all the legends and fairytales- I had never experienced or seen anything amazing, so I saw no reason to believe anything existed. I believed the centaurs and unicorns that had been spotted occasionally were merely confusion and misinterpretation. In the moon light, a white horse could easily look mysterious and ethereal. All would take was an unfortunately placed twig, and a new rumour would be circling the inns in town.

And I certainly did not believe in the monsters and evil wizards. I enjoyed the stories my mother used to tell me when I was younger, as she wove rugs that represented different tales- at the moment, Kess and Elsie were working on a rug that showed Snow White and the seven dwarves. It was a story that warmed the heart, but it was obviously completely untrue. A dead princess could not be awakened with a kiss, just as Sleeping Beauty could not be awakened with a kiss after a hundred years of slumber.

But that was not the idea. Fairytales were not to be worked out logically and comprehended- they were purely for enjoyment.

The flush had crept up to the heights of the sky now, and was lighting up the forest in an eerie glow of grey.

I heard a clunk downstairs as Joz went out to feed the chickens.

It was six am, and, stretching my stiff arms and legs, I dressed into my plain green tunic, belting it with a strip of cream material. I slipped a smaller, shortsleeved blue tunic over the top- I needed as many layers as was humanly possible in these weather conditions- brushed my hair out, plaiting it all up so it wouldn't get in my way. The end reached down and tickled my back- it had grown so long in the past few years.

I padded downstairs, my bare feet slapping the wooden floor. We had lived in this house for twenty eight years, so the flooring was worn and pale in places. My father had built it when he had proposed to my mother. He had always dreamed of a career in farming, so they both left everything and moved over the hill that separated us from a long winding road that lead to the town.

A few houses had followed suit, springing up about a mile away, but most people were terrified of the forest and preferred the town with it's job oppurtunites, social gatherings and a plentiful supply of taverns.

Of course, the house had been extended slightly as more and more children and adults joined the family, so it was now a cosy size- not exactly cramped, but you could never describe it as spacious.

As the rest of my bleary eyed family stumbled down the stairs for breakfast, I slipped back the catch on the window in our kitchen and stuck my head fully out of it.

It was freezing, crisp snowflakes tumbling out of the grey sky. I could hear a couple of birds singing the morning chorus, though they perched gingerly on the limp arms of our scarecrow- none lived in the forest.

Joz came and stared out of the window with me.

"Pests, those birds." he growled, shaking his head. "That scarecrow is meant to scare them away, not provide a comfortable perch!"

I laughed at him. "Maybe the scarecrow likes their singing?" I suggested, drawing my head back through the window and shutting the wind out.

"He's got no ears!" Joz replied, in mock indignation, "He can't hear them." Ruffling my hair, which made me feel instantly half of my age, he wandered over to help Lomita with Betha, who was grizzling.

I smiled to myself, for though I had felt patronised, Joz and Osreel were like elder brothers to me. Inside, however, I longed for something more. Family life always took the same path. I woke up, ate breakfast, chopped wood, ate lunch, chopped wood, ate dinner, then went to bed.

To be sure, I'd rather do that than anything else my mother had suggested as possible tasks- I would have been bored out of my mind sewing sheets together and the like- but I longed for spice, adventure. I wanted something unexpected.

Sighing, I sat down at the table. At least I had a loving family, I consoled myself, and at least I had some sort of resemblance of a comfortable life.

But despite these thoughts, I could not help but long for a life with more excitement, and less tree chopping.