Winters were approaching. Icy breeze flowed in the atmosphere. Whole village snoozed in their cosy rooms. Silence surrounded the village except for the clicking sound made by beetles.
In this calm atmosphere, a man dug a pit in his backyard. He was stout and had a thick moustache on his face. Balding head and wrinkles revealed his age.
Looking at the depth, he dropped the spade and wiped the sweat from his forehead. His brows were pulled up together and lower lids were tensed and drawn up. He went back into his house and returned with a small locket.
Glancing around, he dropped it in the pit and buried it. He planted a small sapling and glanced one last time before going back into his house.
"He might come anytime now," he murmured to himself as he cleaned his muddy hands.
He wiped his hand and entered the kitchen to prepare his meal. Soon he heard a knock on his door. He lowered the flame of the wood-burning stove by pulling out a few logs and went to open the door.
