Gape’s Chronicles: Strings and Stones

Two days until my time with the hunters.
I sat around the small fire at the center of the hut. My hands repeated the simple motion I would become far too familiar with in the coming years. As the strands danced in my fingertips, I contemplated a future as a hunter. The sense of adventure. The freedom from modern tasks like splitting wood and scraping grain. The promise of the wild.

Gape’s Chronicles: Flickers from the Fire

Late at night, the forest beyond our little village comes alive with chirps and howls. I tended the fire while my mother prepared earthenware pots of porridge and stew. The bed of coals was almost hot enough to cook on, and only a few drips from the light shower outside penetrated the hay thatching overhead. Each droplet made a hiss as it hit the fire.