The morning light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows over the cabin and the surrounding forest. Leo stood outside, breathing in the crisp mountain air. His muscles ached from the work he had put in over the past few days, but there was a sense of anticipation in the air now. His father had made it clear—today was the day they would make the long journey down the mountain to Carvahall. It wasn't a trip they made often, but when they did, it was important. They needed supplies, and the furs and hides they had carefully tanned over the past months would fetch a good price.
Leo's father was already inside the cabin, busy with the last-minute preparations. The familiar scent of the wood fire mixed with the earthy aroma of leather as Leo glanced around at the furs stacked neatly beside the door. Several hides of deer, elk, and mountain goats had been carefully prepared, their surfaces smooth and supple, ready to be traded for the goods they needed. The cabin was cluttered with tools—knives for skinning, needles for stitching, and heavy hides waiting to be packed away.
The trip to Carvahall would take a full day, sometimes longer, depending on the weather. It was a harsh journey, filled with treacherous trails and winding mountain paths. But it was necessary. They needed arrowheads, tools, and materials to continue their work. And Leo's father had always said that they had to rely on the town for things they couldn't make themselves.
Leo stepped inside the cabin, brushing the cold air from his cloak. His father was carefully packing their supplies—cooked meat wrapped in cloth, flint for fire-starting, and a small satchel of dried herbs. His father's back was turned, but Leo could tell from his movements that he was making sure everything was in order.
"You ready?" His father's deep voice broke the silence, and Leo nodded without hesitation. His father turned around, his weathered face softening with a rare, but brief, smile. "Good. We've got a long day ahead."
Leo went to work, pulling out the hides and carefully loading them onto the cart that would carry their goods down the mountain. The cart had been built sturdy, with strong wooden wheels to navigate the rough paths. As he worked, Leo could hear his father's footsteps behind him, the sound of leather and metal being shifted as they arranged their supplies.
As the last of the hides were packed, his father came up beside him, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "We've got plenty of furs to trade this time, but there's one thing we'll need to get while we're in Carvahall—arrowheads." He paused, looking out toward the winding mountain path. "Our stock is running low. It's hard to make a proper hunting trip without a full quiver."
Leo nodded. The bow had always been a staple in their household. His father had taught him how to use it when he was young, teaching him the art of archery in the same way he had taught him to tan hides—patiently, with careful instruction. The bow was as essential to their survival as any other tool in their lives.
"I know," Leo said, his voice quiet. "I've been meaning to ask, though—what kind of arrowheads do we need? The ones we have are getting dull, but I don't know what kind to get."
His father gave him a thoughtful look. "Good question. It's not just about the metal, Leo. It's about the balance and the shape of the head. For hunting game like deer, we'll need broadheads. But for something tougher—like a bear, or even a mountain lion—you need something sturdier, something with a sharp tip. The metal must hold up under pressure."
Leo nodded, understanding the importance of the right arrowheads. His father had always been particular about their gear. It wasn't just a matter of hunting—it was about respecting the animals and ensuring they didn't waste a kill. His father had taught him that every hunt was part of a cycle—a balance between the predator and the prey.
"You'll see when we get there," his father continued, his voice gruff but patient. "There's a blacksmith in Carvahall who makes good work of the arrowheads. His name's Finley. We'll stop by his shop and see what he's got."
"Got it," Leo said, adjusting the furs in the cart.
His father seemed satisfied with the preparations, but there was still the matter of making sure they had enough food for the journey. He motioned for Leo to follow him inside the cabin again, where a pot of stew simmered on the fire. They packed the food in leather bags, alongside the dried meat they'd already prepared.
Leo's mind, however, was still occupied with the compendium. Even now, the soft whispering from the book seemed to hum at the edges of his consciousness. It was almost as though it knew they were preparing to leave, knew they would be heading into Carvahall, where the knowledge it contained might be closer to a reality.
"You still listening to that damn thing?" his father asked suddenly, snapping Leo out of his thoughts. His tone was light but laced with a hint of teasing.
Leo stiffened, but his father wasn't looking at him. His gaze was on the small satchel Leo carried with him at all times, the same satchel that held the compendium.
"I'm not sure what it is," Leo admitted, his voice quieter than usual. "Sometimes... it feels like it's speaking to me. Like it knows something I don't."
His father's eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression didn't change. "Magic, huh?"
Leo nodded, hesitant. He had never spoken of the compendium openly with his father. It had been his secret, his burden to carry. But somehow, his father had always known that something was different about him, something beyond the simple life they led in the Spine.
"You need to be careful with things you don't understand," his father said, his voice low and serious now. "Magic can be a dangerous thing. But you're not a child anymore. You know what you need to do."
Leo nodded again, the weight of his father's words settling over him. He didn't have all the answers, but he was starting to feel the pressure of understanding them. The compendium was leading him down a path he wasn't sure he was ready for.
With the cart packed and the last of their gear ready, Leo and his father set off toward Carvahall. The winding path ahead of them was both familiar and unknown—an old, well-trodden route, but with each step, Leo could feel the pull of something greater calling to him from within the pages of the compendium.
As they began their descent down the mountain, the early morning sun casting long shadows over the rocks and trees, Leo couldn't help but wonder what would happen when he finally understood the magic. And if he was ready for whatever lay beyond the next turn.