Greetings, kinsmen. Bjorn here. Spent the sun's journey today locked in a petty feud with the Britain East Forest. The trees, it seems, have learned to dodge. Many attempts to gather wood were met with... let's call it tactical repositioning. My axe sang more for the birds than the birch.
Between failed forays, I explored the heaths. Found a lovely glen, a curious rock, and a squirrel that judged me silently. Each time, I returned to my bench, determined to craft those Barrel Staves. Each time, I came up short. Four pieces! Only four!
The woodpile remains stubborn. The staves remain uncrafted. But my knowledge of the local foliage? Unmatched. A frustrating day, but not without its views. Back at it tomorrow. The trees can't hide forever.
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