Plucking weeds by hand at the tail end of winter was definitely not a pleasant experience.
Squatting down, he thrust his fingers into the muddy ground, clenched tightly, and pulled with force.
It was slightly painful.
Even weeding required some technique; otherwise, the saw-like leaves would cut the palms of your hands, and in such weather, an injury meant sickness, sickness meant loss of the ability to work, and that wasn't far from death.
Ludo, squatting, was busy along the road, his dwarfish stature even smaller than some children, but he had a good appetite, meaning he needed more work.
He looked up at the mansion of the town leader in the distance, a residence that had once been the envy and admiration of many, now entering a state of semi-abandonment. It was the first time he felt such a longing for Ronin.
