The sun had barely touched the horizon when I opened my eyes.
The cold morning air filled the small room, and the village remained silent, interrupted only by the occasional crackling of firewood burning gently in the kitchen hearth.
I stretched slowly.Despite the physical exhaustion of the previous days, the impulse to continue observing this world was stronger than any lingering drowsiness.
I dressed simply and stepped into the main room of the house.
My mother was already up.
She stood with her back to me, stirring the porridge in a clay pot, yet even so, it was impossible not to notice her presence.There was a calm, steady grace about her.Her light brown hair was tied back beneath a simple white linen scarf, revealing her gentle face.Her dress was worn, marked here and there by daily labor stains, yet it still followed the slender lines of her figure.She radiated that natural beauty that never depended on adornment or vanity.
For a brief moment, as I observed her, a quiet thought crossed my mind:
Someday, I need to give her a proper dress.Even in this simple village, my mother deserves more than work-worn garments.
Sensing my presence, she smiled without turning.
— Awake already, son?
— I couldn't sleep any longer — I replied, sitting on the wooden bench.
Lina was still asleep, curled beneath the furs in the corner of the bedroom.
My father soon entered, carrying firewood and rubbing his hands to warm them.
— Off to walk around again? — Erwin asked, setting the firewood beside the hearth.
I nodded, and while serving myself, added:
— I think I'll visit Master Corven's workshop today.See how his work is coming along.
My mother turned slightly, offering her usual teasing smile.
— Just don't get lost in Corven's mess again.He's never been good at organizing that workshop.If someone knocks over a stack of planks, I hope it won't be you this time.
I let out a small sigh of amusement, though her words struck a deeper chord within me.
Yes... it was there.That day… when the former me had the accident.A careless moment, the pile gave way, and… here I am.
The weight of the memory surfaced quickly, but I pushed it aside.
I raised my hands in a gesture of innocent surrender.
— No promises.
My father chuckled as he sat down for breakfast.
— At least you're finally paying attention to the village now. Before, you barely stepped outside — he added, serving the porridge into our clay bowls.
I smiled faintly.
If only they knew how much my mind was working now…
We ate quietly, broken only by the scrape of spoons against clay.
Not long after, I left the house.The early morning light painted the horizon in soft shades of orange.
I followed the now-familiar path but headed in a new direction — toward the artisans' quarter.
The workshops and work areas stood slightly apart from the homes — separated by the noise, sawdust, smells, and steady flow of goods.
The first workshop belonged to the carpenter — known to everyone as Master Corven.
It was a simple yet sturdy structure, built from well-fitted logs, topped with a wide straw roof that shielded the open workspace from rain.Thick beams held up the roof, while a long wooden workbench dominated the center.
But what immediately stood out was the carefully tolerated chaos.
Planks were stacked precariously in several corners, some leaning at dangerous angles, as if one careless touch might send them tumbling.In one spot, wheel molds, door frames, and broken cart pieces were jumbled together like an abandoned puzzle.Ropes, leather straps, boxes of nails, and smaller tools filled every remaining surface.
I couldn't help but feel a slight chill run down my spine as my eyes caught one particular stack — tilted, fragile.
Yes... it was there.That day… when the former me had the accident.A careless moment, the pile gave way, and… here I am.
I gave a slight shake of my head, dismissing the thought.
The scent of freshly cut wood filled the air, mixed with the sweet aroma of resin.
Corven was fully focused on adjusting the fit of a wagon wheel he was building.
He was a broad-shouldered man, with rough, calloused hands that seemed to have fused with his craft.A thick beard fell to his chest, and his small, sharp eyes studied every cut with calm precision.
Noticing my presence, Corven raised his eyes.
— Torren — he said with a nod and a faint, sincere smile.
He set aside his mallet for a moment and continued:
— It's good to see you here.After that accident... many wouldn't have returned to a workshop so soon.I admire your resilience, boy.
I nodded slightly, returning a small smile.
— Thank you, Master Corven.
He resumed his work, aligning the wheel again with practiced hands.
— Curiosity helps a man grow. Keep at it — he added, without breaking his rhythm.
I stood silently, observing the flow of work — the efficiency within the organized chaos.
Leaving the carpentry, I continued onward.
Near the stream, I reached the cooper's area.
Wooden stakes held curved planks drying under the sun.Barrels of various sizes were stacked, some newly assembled, others still being worked on.
Two men were busy at their tasks:One carefully aligned metal hoops around a barrel, tapping them into place with a small wooden mallet;The other scraped the inside of a cask with a long curved blade.
The scent of damp wood mixed with the metallic tang of heated iron filled the air.
I moved slowly, studying the precision with which they shaped the wood to seal the containers.It was not refined craftsmanship, but functional.The barrels stored grains, cured meats, and liquids — all vital for surviving the harsh winter months.
Farther along, the air thickened with pungent odors.
I had reached the tannery.
Here, breathing became a task in itself.Fat, blood, smoke, and natural curing solutions created a dense haze.
Hides were stretched across wooden frames to dry in the breeze, while assistants stirred vats filled with mixtures designed to soften and cure the leather.
Some wooden drums, blackened by repeated use, slowly simmered solutions made from ash, animal fat, and roots.
Near the entrance, a young apprentice carrying a bucket slipped on a wet hide stretched across the ground.The bucket tipped, splashing part of its contents onto another apprentice, who yelped in surprise.
— Damn it, Dalen! — the second boy shouted, wiping his face with his sleeve.
The smell was... indescribable.
I held back a grin, maintaining my composure as I observed.
The master tanner, a short, stocky man named Wilhem, soon appeared with a stern expression.
— I've told you both a hundred times!Watch your step, or you'll end up curing your own boots in the vat!
The apprentices quickly returned to their work.
This sector of the village was noisy, messy, but vital.
They make the most out of the least.Every part of a slaughtered animal is used. Nothing goes to waste.
Another piece of Eberholm's great puzzle was forming in my mind.
I decided to end my walk for the day.The sky was beginning to turn golden with the approaching sunset.
On my way back, the village's scent was a blend of smoke, freshly cut wood, leather, damp earth, and baking bread.
My steps were calm.My mind, fully engaged.
The village continued taking shape within me.Each day revealing another fragment of what would slowly become the complete map of Eberholm.