Hail, friends. Spent the sun's whole journey trying to be useful. Felt the call of the wilds, so I explored a bit—found a nice patch of mushrooms and a particularly grumpy squirrel. Good start.
Then, the work. Needed wood for barrel staves. Simple, yes? No. My axe sang, but the forests of Britain did not listen. North Forest? Paths confused me. East Forest? Thorns turned me back. Each time, I'd return to my bench, stare at my four missing logs, and try again. More splinters than staves, I tell you.
The wood is testing me. Tomorrow, it yields.
-Bjorn
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