Hail, fellow adventurers. Bjorn here. Today, the forests of Britain have declared me their enemy. I sought lumber for barrel staves, but every tree I approached seemed to take a step back. My axe arm is sore from swinging at naught but air.
Between my many, many failed trips to the North and East woods, I did manage to do a spot of exploring. Found a lovely, if slightly menacing, thicket. But mostly, my day was defined by a single, stubborn goal and the four pieces of wood that continue to elude me. My carpentry bench mocks me. Perhaps tomorrow the trees will show me mercy. Or perhaps I shall take up basket weaving.
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