A Day of Almost-Staves

Hail, friends. Bjorn here. Today was a lesson in stubbornness. The forest paths were kind, revealing a few hidden clearings. But the wood? The wood mocks me.

I must have walked past a hundred trees, yet I'm cursed to be four planks short of a barrel. Every swing of my hatchet, every attempt to shape a stave, ended with the same pile of splinters and the same thought: "Need more wood."

Even the path to the North Forest seemed to twist away from me once. I swear the very oaks are laughing.

I return to Britain empty-handed, save for a newfound and profound hatred of my own carpentry bench. Tomorrow, I bring a bigger axe.

-Bjorn