I continued my walk right after leaving the square and the well behind me.
The morning air had lost much of its earlier chill, replaced by a mild breeze carrying the fresh scent of damp soil and the smoke from a few chimneys.
I followed one of the dirt paths that circled the village, keeping my eyes open, absorbing every detail my memories had once glossed over.
The trees were simple, yet sturdy.Some resembled oaks, others looked like apple trees—though smaller, with more twisted trunks.Few bore fruit this season, but here and there hung small clusters of red berries and pale yellow fruit.
With every tree, my mind layered the images with memories from my past life.
Everything is… so similar, but never identical.The plants, the soil, the air… like a reflection of Earth, but not quite.
Further ahead, the sound of chickens clucking caught my attention.
In a small space fenced with uneven wooden stakes, several chickens walked freely, pecking the dirt for insects.A few goats stood tethered to short posts with worn ropes, chewing lazily on the low grass.
There were rabbits too—kept in simple wooden cages with crude branch grids.Some of the cages looked hastily built, barely holding together.
I paused for a moment, observing the animals.They weren't raised for trade or large-scale production—just for personal use and occasional bartering.
My eyes scanned everything naturally: the animals' condition, the enclosures, their food.
It was far too early to think about improvements.But possibilities quietly formed at the back of my mind.
As I observed, slow footsteps and a low whistle reached my ears.
"Good morning, boy," a calm voice greeted from behind.
I turned slowly.
A man with a peaceful appearance stood there.Perhaps in his forties.Short, well-kept beard, gentle brown eyes, and calloused hands marked with small scratches—the signs of someone who handled animals daily.He wore a thick, greenish-toned tunic.
He carried a small basket of herbs and bits of hard bread, tossing them to the chickens.
"Good morning, sir," I replied with a slight nod.
"Taking a walk this morning, huh?" he said with a smile.
"Yes... getting to know the village better," I answered.
"It's good to walk. The eyes learn more than the ears ever will," he said wisely.
He tossed another piece of bread, which was quickly snatched by two competing hens.
"My name's Jareth," he added simply.
"Torren," I responded, though he already knew my name.Still, courtesy was important here.
He nodded and returned to his task, not expecting a long conversation.The interaction was brief, simple—like most things in this place.
I resumed my walk, leaving the small animal yard behind.
Continuing along the path, I passed several more modest homes.
I saw farmers preparing their tools.Men sharpening sickles, women folding woven baskets.
Further ahead, I came across a small garden tended by an elderly woman, her hands surprisingly steady as she gathered fresh greens.
Small wild birds hopped between low branches, and a few lazy cats stretched out in the morning sun, hunting nothing in particular.
There were no tall walls or strong defenses—only simple fences surrounding the homes.No guards.No watchtowers.
A simple village.Exposed.But, for now, safe.
There's so much to see, so much to understand…Everything feels fragile, yet so alive.
I kept walking, the wind gently brushing my face.With each step, the world around me became a little clearer.
There was still much to explore.
The day had only begun.