Greetings, kinsmen. Bjorn here. Today, the very trees of Britain conspired against me. I sought lumber in the North and East forests, but each path was barred or fruitless. Each return to my workshop, determined to finally craft those Barrel Staves, was met with the same infuriating lack of wood. Four pieces! I only needed four! The day was a cycle of failed journeys and idle carving. The only victory was a brief, peaceful exploration that did nothing to fill my woodpile. My axe is sharp, my hands are ready, but the forest remains stubborn. Tomorrow, the trees will yield.
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