Two days had passed, and it was now Tuesday the 20^th of Imvest. A pale blue sky without clouds was waiting for the sun to rise; had it been summer, dawn would already have given place to morning light. Soon, people would leave their houses for work. Winter was the best season for cutting trees, as snow allowed easier transportation of logs by sliding them onward thanks to some ropes and horses. People did cut trees in other seasons, even when grass covered the earth, but not as much.

Despite having a small brazier for warmth, the cold and darkness from outside insisted that Mayen should remain in bed, under his warm blankets. Winter mornings were definitely not those of summer: no bird songs to greet you.

-“Wee-oo!”

If God had any sense of humour in creating Fendorïm, then this moment showed it perfectly; sometimes, one wonders why he is proven wrong in such a casual manner. Who could have thought a Mountain Kite would find pleasure in saying good morning to a human?