A Stubborn Day of Staves and Stumbles

Hail, travelers. Bjorn here. Today was a day of many steps and little progress. The wilds of Britannia were kind, yielding secrets on every path I walked. Yet, my true foe was not beast nor brigand, but a simple barrel stave.

Each time I returned to my bench, the wood mocked me. "Four short," it seemed to whisper, no matter how I searched. Even the forest path to Britain's east wood seemed to conspire against me, turning me around. My axe grew heavy, my pride a bit splintered.

I shall sleep well, but tomorrow, those staves will be mine. The wood will learn the stubbornness of a Northman.