The morning sunlight filtered through the trees, dappling the clearing with patches of gold. The fire crackled low, its warmth cutting through the crisp air. Kah'el crouched near the edge of the clearing, adjusting a snare with practiced precision. Lucien leaned back against a log, a half-empty bowl of porridge in his lap, while Taryn sat cross-legged by the fire, the knife glinting as she ran it over a whetstone. The rhythmic scrape of metal against stone filled the silence.
Lucien broke the stillness first, waving a hand toward the jornal balanced on his knee. "All right, listen up. Our grand little sanctuary here is missing a few essentials." He cleared his throat dramatically and began to list items from the page. "Leather strips, iron nails, pitch or resin, wood pegs, and—oh, would you look at that—a new drawknife. I wonder how ours broke."
Kah'el didn't look up. "It broke because someone insisted it could handle that warped oak."
