Toiling through The Village of Ebondenn

It was the year 1005. The sun had not risen, and from Mrs. Lambert's window, the sweet aroma of pies lingered, teasing one's nose.

Two paces over, in a worn-out mat, a young boy balled up in a blanket, tossed and turned. Beside him lay a small table with a roll of days’ old bread, which mice nibbled and gnawed upon. Waking to the song of a rooster's crow, he sprang up, stretching his arms as he shoved his feet into worn-out leather shoes, rushing out the door.