The crackling fire in the corner continued its dance, casting a comforting glow across the room. The scent of the stew, bubbling away on the stove, wafted through the air, adding to the ambiance of home.
The front door creaked open, heralding the return of the rest of the family. Torrhen, Alarra, and Alys entered, their figures adorned with traces of a day's labour. Their boots bore the markings of snow from the fields, and their clothes, though worn with pride, hinted at the toil of working the winter-stricken land.
Torrhen huffed as he got away from the cold. Alarra wore a plain expression softened by a warm smile as she gazed upon her children. Alys sported a rosy-cheeked glow, displaying her work and her endeavours in the village barn and fields.
The trio exchanged tired but contented looks; the shared understanding of a hard day's work etched on their faces. The homely scent of the stew mingled with the earthy aroma of the outdoors as they gathered around the fireplace, shedding the layers of the morning toil.
Torrhen took a moment to ruffle Brandon's hair. "How was your morning, son? Off into the woods again."
Brandon grinned, launching into a lively account of the encounter of his morning shaping it into the best tale ever. Though he keenly left out a key detail of the dire wolf, no need to worry mom.
Alarra, with an affectionate smile, listened to her son's tales while starting to dish out the stew that had been left to slow cook. The aroma of the stew grew richer, permeating the room.
The family gathered around the table, its worn surface bearing the mark of forgotten meals. Bowls were passed, and conversation flowed, a symphony of voices weaving tales of the day. The fireplace crackled in the background, its flames dancing in rhythm with the familial like it was joining the conversation.
In the quiet moments between bites, Alys turned to Brandon. "Did you bring some of those berries that you got form Acorn?"
Brandon grinned mischievously. "Of course! Acorn said they'll fill us up." As the Branson family savoured the magical snowberries, a burst of unexpected flavours danced on their tongues. The berries, plucked from the mystical realm of the woods, carried a unique combination of sweetness and tartness, creating a melody of tastes that tingled the taste buds.
The initial burst was a refreshing crispness, like the first snowfall on a winter morning. The sweetness followed, subtle but enchanting, reminiscent of honey gathered from secret blooms hidden in the heart of the forest. Yet, underlying it all was a hint of tartness, a zesty surprise that awakened the senses.
Each bite seemed to unfold a new layer of flavour, a journey through the untamed wilderness captured in a single, small berry. The snowberries left a lingering warmth, like the glow of a hearth on a chilly night, filling the Branson family with a sense of contentment and wonder.
"Quite the little gift you've brought for us here, Brandon, but it doesn't relinquish you from your afternoon work," Torrhen said, knowing Brandon too well. "You know the deal; you can see your friends in the morning, but the afternoon is for work," responds Torrhen, his voice carrying his expectation.
"But I am your favourite son, surely one day is fine," Brandon retorts, trying his best to use his puppy dog eyes.
"Seeing how that is coming from my only son, I am going to have to say no, it does not. You have some work to do with your sister in the barn." Torrhen said, effectively deflecting Brandon's best attempts.
"Don't look so down, Brandon. Don't you like spending time with me?" says Alys, feigning a sarcastic sad face.
"Oh, it means the world to me, sister," Brandon replies sarcastically. "You're so mean," Alys says in a deadpan voice.
"You're so mean," Brandon mimics in an annoying high-pitched voice.
"How old are you two now?" interjects Alarra, trying to bring a bit of order to the table.
"Five," says Brandon and Alys together, a synchronized response accompanied by matching mischievous smiles. Alarra just shakes her head and sighs, a mix of exasperation and fondness, before returning her attention to her food. Alys and Brandon share a triumphant glance.
"Oh, yes, before I forget, Alarra, I was talking to Ellard, and he said that the village chief is finally meeting with the elders from Eldermoor and Raven's Hollow. They are going to meet up to talk about this winter and see how we can all get through this one together."
"Good, was wondering when that was going to happen," replied Alarra, a hint of relief in her voice.
"But don't we already help the other villages, Dad?" interjects Brandon, his curiosity piqued.
"We do, but more along the lines of big trades," Torrhen explained. "We have plenty of firewood and timber, so I believe that the village chief is going to make a bigger deal. See if he can't get more poultry from Raven's Hollow and fish from Eldermoor. But I trust the Chief; he's doing what is best. He hasn't done us wrong in the past; he will do right by us now."
"Right, finish off your meals and get ready for work," says Alarra, steering the conversation back to the practicalities of their daily routine.
Brandon donned his work attire, a set of rugged clothes that had weathered many days in the fields and the barn. His shirt, once a vibrant now faded, bore patches and stains that spoke of countless chores and tasks. The fabric, though coarse, had the comfortable softness that comes from years of use. Over his shirt, he wore a durable, well-worn leather vest with pockets and loops, a practical garment that carried tools and small items needed for the day's work. The vest showcased the signs of wear and tear, its edges frayed and bearing marks from various encounters with the elements.
His trousers, a sturdy pair of work trousers, were caked with dirt from previous days, a record to the hands-on nature of his work. The knees showed faint traces of repairs, patches that told stories of kneeling in the fields, fixing tools, or tending to animals. Completing the ensemble were his standard tough leather boots, scuffed and coated with the dust of the barn, fields, and forests that he loved to play in. The soles boasted the grooves and imprints of the terrain they navigated daily. Brandon reached for his fur jacket, a well-crafted garment that added an extra layer of warmth and protection against the biting chill of Winterhaven.
The fur jacket was lined with a combination of wolf and rabbit fur, carefully sewn together to create a patchwork of textures. The outer layer, adorned with the thick and coarse fur of wolves, provided robust insulation against the harsh winter winds. The inner lining, softer and more supple with the delicate rabbit fur, ensured comfort and prevented chafing against the skin. The jacket had a high collar that could be fastened snugly around the neck, shielding Brandon from the frigid air.
The sleeves, also lined with fur, offered additional protection to his arms, particularly useful when working in the open fields. While the outer appearance showcased the practicality and resilience of the jacket, the fur added a touch of rustic elegance. The natural shades of brown and gray from the wolf pelts, interspersed with the lighter hues of rabbit fur, created a visually appealing pattern that mirrored the diverse landscape of Winterhaven.
As Brandon slipped into the fur jacket, he felt the comforting weight of tradition and craftsmanship. He then heads to the barn with Alys at his side. Brandon stepped into the barn, a weathered structure that echoed with the comforting sounds of lowing sheep and clucking poultry. The air within was a mixture of hay, straw, and the musky scent of animals—a familiar 'perfume' that filled the senses.
In one corner, a flock of sheep grazed on a bed of straw, their woolly forms creating a sea of whites, greys, and browns. The sheep, hardy breeds adapted to the cold climate of Winterhaven, bore thick coats that served as natural insulation against the biting winter winds. They munched contentedly on hay, their rhythmic chewing providing a background melody to the scene.
Next to the sheep pens, the poultry enclosure housed a variety of sturdy breeds that could endure the winter months without issue. Chickens with feathered legs scratched at the ground, pecking at scattered grains. The roosters, their vibrant plumage contrasting against the snow-white backdrop outside, occasionally crowed, signalling the passage of time.
As Brandon and Alys tended to the sheep and poultry, and through tiring work needed to be done. Each bah and cluck a part of the harmonious rhythm defined their way of life and though simple, it is satisfying, for working and creating for your betterment cannot be beaten.