Chapter 93: An Old Man’s Burden
Dylan woke up, his body numb, as heavy as the stones he walked over each day. The fatigue of a day’s labor had overtaken him. At his age, he should have retired long ago. But he lived alone with his wife—a gentle woman who couldn’t have children—and he had to keep providing for them. No one else would do it.
It was late. The sun was already low in the sky, casting long, pale shadows between the trunks. It must have been around five o’clock. He had given in to a short nap, right there amidst the wood he had gathered. The logs were tightly bound with a rope, grouped into a single pile, easy to transport. Well... more or less.
His body trembled. His arms were heavy. But he had resigned himself: even if it took all day, he would make the round trip. He took breaks when needed. He was no longer ashamed to slow down.
But this last nap... had hit him harder than the others.
He straightened up slowly, a hand on his lower back, and glanced at the sky. What he saw tightened his throat.
Time had passed. Far too much.
The sun had almost set. And here, in these woods... the night was never peaceful.
He stood up with an awkward jolt, hastily tying the ropes of his load.
If he didn’t hurry back to the village, he would end up like all the others. Devoured in the dark by a demonic beast from the area. And this time, no one would be left to tell his story.
"Anyway, my little Raviel would be devastated. I can’t inflict such sorrow on her," he muttered, tightening the knots and slowly hoisting the pile of wood onto his back.
His legs bent slightly under the weight, but he held firm. His breath rasped a bit in his throat—a dry cough, stifled. He straightened up, knees slightly bent, then began to walk.