The sun carried a warmth that bathed hollow creek in gold, as the light of the sun danced on the ordinary village to paint a view of perfection, one that carried serenity and intrigue.
Jofree the village chief stood outside his home, watching his son Joren chase chickens through the yard with the determined enthusiasm only an eight-year-old could ever possess.
The boy's laughter echoed across the compound, mixing with the sounds of merchants setting up stalls in the village square and farmers heading toward fields that stretched beyond the village borders.
Mirabel emerged from the house with fresh bread in hand, with steam rising from the loaves.
"Joren…" she called even as she balanced the tray in her hand, still hot from the oven.
"Young man, you have chores before you can play."
The boy groaned dramatically but obeyed without question, abandoning his chicken pursuit to help his mother with morning tasks.
