The Winter kingdom

Version 2.0

The crackling fire in the corner continued its dance, casting a comforting glow across the room. The scent of the stew, bubbling away on the stove, wafted through the air, so strongly you could start to taste it. 

The front door creaked open. Torrhen, Alarra, and Alys entered, huffing cold air and they huddled into the house. Their boots were stained with snow and frozen chunks of soil from the fields, whilst leggings and jackets, drenched in sweat and water, were taken off to hang over the fire. 

Torrhen huffed as he got away from the cold, before grabbing Alarra's hands cupping them in his own whilst Alarra beaming with a warm smile as she gazed at Torrhen giving him a sweet kiss. Alys sported a rosy-cheeked glow, as she stirred the stew breathing it in deep before smiling wide. 

The homely scent of the stew mingled with the earthy aroma of the outdoors as they gathered around the fireplace, rough woods were thrown onto the fire as it roared with life as feet were put up to rest. 

Torrhen took a moment to ruffle Brandon's hair. "How was your morning, son? Off into the woods again." 

Brandon grinned, launching into a lively account of the encounter of his morning shaping it into the best tale ever. Though he keenly left out a key detail of the dire wolf, no need to worry Mom. 

Alarra, with an affectionate smile, listened to her son's tales while starting to dish out the stew that had been left to slow cook. The aroma of the stew grew richer, permeating the room. 

The family gathered around the table, as cracks in the table started to fill with dust and food crumbs. Food was passed around, as the conversation flowed, the mother updating the family on the gossip, father on the state of the farms, children on the work they completed. The fireplace crackled in the background, its flames dancing in rhythm with the familial. 

In the quiet moments between bites, Alys turned to Brandon. "Did you bring some of those berries that you got from Acorn?" 

Brandon grinned. "Of course! Acorn said they'll fill us up." As the Branson family savoured the magical snowberries, a burst of unexpected flavours danced on their tongues. The berries, plucked from the mystical realm of the woods, carried a unique combination of sweetness and tartness, creating a melody of tastes that tingled the taste buds. 

The initial burst was a refreshing crispness, like the first bite of fresh bread. The sweetness followed, subtle but enchanting, reminiscent of honey that lathered the tongue. Yet, underlying it all was a hint of tartness, a zesty surprise that awakened the taste. 

Each berry seemed to unfold a new layer of flavour, a journey through the untamed wilderness captured in a single, small berry. The snowberries left a lingering warmth, like the glow of a hearth on a chilly night. 

"Quite the little gift you've brought for us here, Brandon, but it doesn't relinquish you from your afternoon work," Torrhen said. "You know the deal; you can see your friends in the morning, but the afternoon is for work." 

"But I am your favourite son, surely one day is fine," Brandon said, trying his best to use his puppy dog eyes. 

"Seeing how that is coming from my only son, I am going to have to say no, it does not. You have some work to do with your sister in the barn." Torrhen said as he smiled at Brandon. 

"Don't look so down, Brandon. Don't you like spending time with me?" Alys says, feigning a sarcastic sad face. 

"Oh, it means the world to me, sister," Brandon replies. "You're so mean," Alys says in a deadpan voice. 

"You're so mean," Brandon mimics in an annoying high-pitched voice. 

"How old are you two now?" Alarra asks as she gives them both a stern look. 

"Five," Brandon and Alys say together, accompanied by matching mischievous smiles. Alarra just shakes her head and sighs, before returning her attention to her food. Alys and Brandon share a triumphant glance. 

"Oh, yes, before I forget, Alarra, I was talking to Ellard, and he said that the village chief is finally meeting with the elders from Eldermoor and Raven's Hollow. They are going to meet up to talk about this winter and see how we can all get through this one together." 

"Good, was wondering when that was going to happen," Alarra replied, as her shoulders relaxed a bit. 

"But don't we already help the other villages, Dad?" Brandon asks as he looks up from his food. 

"We do, but more along the lines of big trades," Torrhen explained. "We have plenty of firewood and timber, so I believe that the village chief is going to make a bigger deal. See if he can't get more poultry from Raven's Hollow and fish from Eldermoor. But I trust the Chief; he's doing what is best. He hasn't done us wrong in the past; he will do right by us now."

"Right, finish off your meals and get ready for work," Alarra says, as she stares at Brandon. 

Brandon donned his work attire. His shirt bore faded patches of past repairs and stains that can never be removed no matter how much you scrub. The fabric, though coarse, had the comfortable softness that comes from years of use. Over his shirt, he wore a durable, well-worn leather vest with pockets and loops, with frayed edges and torn corners. 

Next was a sturdy pair of work trousers, that were caked in layers of dirt buildup. The knees showed faint patches and thigh leathers nearly warn down to the skin. Completing the ensemble were his thick leather boots, scuffed and coated with the dust and crap of the barn, fields, and forests. The soles boasted the grooves and imprints of freshly calved treads through still marked with smooth worn edges.

Brandon reached for his fur jacket, on the outer layer, adorned with the thick and coarse fur of wolves for a patchwork of textures. The inner lining, softer and more supple with the delicate rabbit fur, ensured comfort and prevented chafing against the skin. The jacket furled a high collar that snuggled around the neck. 

As Brandon slipped into the fur jacket, he felt the comforting weight of his mother's sowing. He then heads to the barn with Alys at his side. Brandon stepped into the barn, a weathered structure that echoed with the comforting sounds of lowing sheep and clucking poultry. The air within was a mixture of hay, straw, and the musky scent of animals—a familiar 'perfume' that filled the senses.