In the evening, sitting around the hearth, pine wood burning, the occasional spark popping with a crackle, startling the five little birds sleeping in the wooden box next to us, emitting chirps before settling down again, dozing off in a daze.
Although Tilan wasn't sure why, pine wood indeed seemed to produce these crackling sparks more readily than other woods. At the moment, she was sitting by the fire, brushing paint onto her canvas, depicting the landscape she had seen during the day, with a touch of her own fantasy added.
Within the tall and straight Cedar Forest, a modest, low log cabin nestled, sunlight piercing through the gaps in the woods, casting light on the meadow with a few birds flying through. Not far from the cabin stood two people on the grass, looking into the distance. However, because they were so small compared to the towering cedars, their representation on the canvas was merely two vague dots, creating a blurred artistic conception.
