Njal was clearing the field from snow. Him and his family owned no land, and therefore nothing. They didn't even own themselves. The field he was clearing belonged to Knight Sune of Ersten. He had once personally visited the village Njal lived in. It was a memorable experience. The most beautiful woman in the city had left with him "for a better life" as Ersten said himself.
He oversaw multiple villages around here. The area he ruled was quite the backwater, since it was in the mountains. His lands were even less valuable than you'd think, since he only owned a couple of small valleys. The rocky soil of the mountains made the highlands nigh worthless. He was only granted them as a formality.
But even though the Knight was poor, he wasn't as poor as his subjects. The taxes he imposed upon them made him able to live without working.
In the meantime, Njal felt like his hands were about to fall off from all of the shoveling he was doing. Luckily for him, he wasn't sad that he had to work. He appreciated what he had, even though it wasn't much. He didn't know the life of a noble. He saw only his village and fields. Venturing away wouldn't bring him any good. The only time he had left the village was when he joined the people who paid the taxes to the Knight. He saw the city that the Knight lived next to, and unconsciously decided never to stay for long in such a scary place. It was at least 50 times bigger than the village he lived in. Much too many people.
He had known of the city before going there. The people who paid the taxes would often bring some things home with them. Things such as livestock, newly milled flour, tools of metal and beautiful toys. Things that couldn't be made in the village.
As Njal shoveled the snow off of the field, he once again felt that eerie feeling from the night before. He took a minute to pause and look around him. No one else seemed to notice a thing. They were completely fine, while Njal stood there alone on the field, slightly shook. He ignored it, and started shoveling again. It was now that he felt it. The snow he shoveled felt wrong. He hadn't realised it before, but it had now become clearer. The snow was wrong. It felt wrong. But just as he put it into thought, the feeling faded again. He tried remembering what had just happened, but he couldn't comprehend it. He couldn't remember what the feeling felt like.
He began shoveling more frantically, as he understood that he didn't understand.
But he wasn't afraid. Of course he wasn't afraid. Right? He was fourteen. He was an adult now. He couldn't be afraid. Being afraid was wrong for a man. A real man was never afraid. He couldn't tell anyone. They might think that he was afraid. That would be wrong. Because he wasn't afraid. He was a man.