The woods heaved their first sigh of golden breath and the sun's beams found their way in through the green canopy. The birds had already been singing for a long hour as if summoning the day into being. Almost all was serene, save for the sweet song of the forest, and, somewhere, a gentle knocking could be heard at the foot of a great tree, rough and gnarled in its old age. Wood chips littered the floor near a smouldering fire as the day's first project had begun. Well, the first had been breakfast, and this was in actual fact, the second. Smoke rose gently, and beside the source sat an old pan, and a mug, which had spent most of its days in the service of a particular proprietor of a particular inn. The last drops of honey sat in the corners of its shaded bottom.
Another wood chip fell to the ground to sit between two old and beaten boots, which seemed very accustomed to dwelling away from stone roads and polished wood floorboards. A hefty sigh sounded out, and a section of birch turned in calloused hands. These hands were unstopping in their labour, drawing forth their carving. All had already been decided. It worked like the forming of the best of stories. At first, in its actual being, it was something created by nature, smooth, for the most part, and blank. Then, bits became lost, which is of course altogether acceptable. The edges became jagged in places, and rough to the touch, as they would be to the ears. Bit by bit, the best parts would be revealed, all in due time. Lastly, the finish, the most important part. As useful as the carving may be, a bowl, a spoon, even a figure to decorate the home, it might not be beautiful. With that all important finish, a scratch here, a bump taken out there, it could become, by all accounts, a work of art, inspiring even.
Folke blew the small chips from his makeshift bench and smiled. He looked up to where the trees parted, and spied the hills, rolling from some distant and unseen horizon. As quickly as it came, the smile faded, and his thoughts turned back to Bree. “One day soon” he promised the hills, and he turned back to his craft.
