Hail, travelers. Bjorn here. Today was a tale of two adventures. My morning explorations went well—found a lovely, forgotten glade and a stream full of grumpy-looking fish. But the afternoon? The afternoon was a stubborn dance with the North Forest and a pile of wood that refuses to become a barrel.
I must have walked the path to that forest four times. Each time, some strange twist of fate turned me around—a sudden thick fog, a misplaced trail marker, a rather persuasive squirrel who seemed to be directing traffic. By the time I'd get back to my workshop, I was so flustered I'd mis-measure the lumber. Four times I tried to craft those barrel staves. Four times I ended up with a pile of kindling.
The forest doesn't want me there, and my axe agrees. Maybe the barkeep will just take his ale in a bucket.
-Bjorn
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