Kale woke up early, the first rays of sunlight barely touching the forest floor. He stretched stiffly, his muscles sore from yesterday's hunt, but his body lighter with satisfaction. Today was about trade—about survival for the days ahead.
He packed carefully: slabs of boar meat wrapped in leaves, thick pieces of fur bundled neatly, and an assortment of fruits, berries, and mushrooms he had gathered along the way. All of it fit into a worn sack tied together with vine, its weight solid in his hands.
The city wasn't close—nothing ever was when you walked barefoot through dirt paths and thorny undergrowth—but Kale didn't mind. Distance kept him safe from prying eyes and unwanted attention. The cobblestone road leading into town was uneven, cracked in places, but sturdy enough. Each step brought him closer to warmth, food, and coins that could buy time until the next hunt.
At last, he reached what he was looking for—a modest shop nestled between two taller buildings, its wooden sign swaying slightly in the wind. The man behind the counter, OldManRellan, had been kinder than most. A quiet fellow with graying hair and a face full of lines, Rellan never asked questions Kale couldn't answer. He only nodded, weighing goods, offering fair trades without judgment.
Kale stepped inside, the scent of dried herbs, old parchment, and ink filling the air. Rellan looked up from a stack of books and gave a slow nod.
"Morning, boy," Rellan said, voice rough like sand on stone. "Got somethin' for me today?"
Kale dropped the sack gently onto the counter, unwrapping the bundles one by one. Rellan inspected everything, fingers brushing over the thick pelt, sniffing at the fresh meat before moving to the fruits and mushrooms. His eyes flickered toward Kale with something like approval.
"This'll fetch a decent price," Rellan muttered, tossing a small pouch of coins into Kale's palm. "And here," he added, pulling out a pair of worn boots from beneath the counter. "You look like you need 'em more than I do."
Kale took them, surprised. They were scuffed, the soles thin, but they would keep his feet warm. Maybe even dry. He nodded in thanks, not trusting his voice to say anything else.
With the coins in hand, he stepped back into the streets, stomach full of hope. For once, he wouldn't have to beg. He had earned this. And maybe, just maybe, he could survive the winter without fear of freezing or starving.
As he wandered past stalls and merchants, his feet led him somewhere familiar. Not because he needed anything—but because something caught his eye. Through a stained glass window of a modest eatery, he saw them.
A family sat around a table, laughing softly as they passed bowls and plates. Steam rose from the food, the scent of stew and roasted bread drifting faintly outside. Their clothes were warm, their faces bright, their home clearly prepared for winter. There was no worry in their eyes. No hunger. Just joy.
Then Kale saw himself.
His reflection stared back from the window—dirty, disheveled, eyes hollow from years of struggle. His golden-yellow hair fell in uneven strands across his forehead. His skin bore the marks of wind, dirt, and exhaustion.
This was him. A beggar. An orphan. Someone who lived off scraps and chance.
He turned away quickly, fists tightening around the coin purse. But the image lingered in his mind—the Ocean had given him knowledge, yes. Guidance. Strength.
But it couldn't give him that.