Spring melted the snow, and the camellia seedlings grew taller, their stems sturdy, their leaves glossy and green. Leon planned to visit the southern Whispering Forest one day—home to more camellia trees, to Kael's old path—but first, he needed supplies: a sharper iron knife, sturdier linen thread, a woven basket large enough for gathering herbs. When Eldrin announced he was going to Sarneth Town to sell herbs, Leon begged to come along.
"Please, Master," he said, his hands clasped together. "I'll be good. I won't wander off. I just need supplies for the camellia trees—and to see the town."
Eldrin sighed, but there was no bite to it. "Fine. But stay close. Cause trouble, and I'll send you home on the first cart that passes."
The trip took two days, along a rutted dirt road that wound through the Whispering Forest's outer edge. Leon walked beside Eldrin, his eyes wide with wonder—at the tall oak trees, their branches heavy with new leaves, at the wildflowers that bloomed along the roadside (blue, yellow, purple, colors he hadn't seen in the village), at the deer that darted across the road, their coats brown and sleek. He'd never left Acorn Village before, and the world felt vast, full of possibility.
When they reached Sarneth Town, Leon's breath caught in his throat. It was nothing like the village—rows of stone houses lined the streets, their roofs tiled with red clay, a market square bustled with people shouting in loud, rapid voices, and a tall wooden tower rose above the rooftops, its bells ringing every hour. Horses pulled carts loaded with grain and cloth, merchants called out their wares, and a group of knights in polished armor rode through the square, their shields emblazoned with the count's crest—a silver lion on a red field.
"Stay close," Eldrin warned, pulling Leon to the side as the knights passed. Their horses were large, muscular, with manes braided and saddles trimmed in leather. Leon stared, fascinated—this was the world beyond Acorn Village, a world of stone and steel, of nobles and knights.
Eldrin set up a stall in the market square, laying out jars of dried wolfroot, bitterleaf daisy, and bottles of herb-infused mead. Leon wandered nearby, his coins clutched tightly in his hand. He bought a sharp iron knife from a blacksmith, its blade glinting in the sun, a coil of thick linen thread from a weaver's stall, and a book on forest plants from a vendor with a cart stacked with tattered volumes. The book was filled with sketches of herbs and trees, their names written in the Empire's script—something Leon could now read, thanks to his sand tray lessons.
He stopped to watch the blacksmith hammer iron, sparks flying like tiny stars, and to smell the fresh bread from a baker's oven, its scent warm and yeasty. He even saw a fruit vendor selling apples—round, red, and crisp-looking, a luxury he'd never tasted. Eldrin bought him one, and Leon bit into it, the sweet juice dripping down his chin.
On the way back to the village, Leon chattered excitedly, telling Eldrin about everything he'd seen—the blacksmith's shop, the baker's oven, the children flying kites in the square. Eldrin listened, his face gruff but his eyes softening as Leon spoke.
When they reached Acorn Village, Leon ran home, eager to show his family the book, the knife, the thread. Erika smiled, running a hand over the book's worn cover, while Garin nodded approvingly at the knife. "You've seen more of the world than most village boys," Garin said, clapping him on the back.
That night, Leon sat by the fire, reading the book by the light of a tallow candle (a luxury Eldrin had given him), his mind on the southern forest. He would go there one day—when the camellia trees were stronger, when he was older, when he was ready. For now, he had supplies. He had seeds. He had hope.