Morning sunlight spilled through the shutters, painting amber stripes across the wooden floor. I stretched, swinging my legs over the bed, and felt the cool boards press beneath my feet. A shiver ran through me, but the scent of fresh bread and honey drifting from the kitchen made my stomach rumble.
I hurried downstairs, tugging on my tunic and fastening it quickly. Lina was already at the table, bouncing slightly in her chair, fingers tapping the wood in a rhythm of her own making.
"Morning, Soren!" she called, her eyes sparkling. "Breakfast smells amazing!"
Mother was arranging plates on the table. "Eat quickly, both of you, before it gets cold," she said, her voice calm but warm.
Father was hunched over a small wooden toy, a half-carved bird in his hands. "Careful, don't eat so fast that you choke on your bread," he said with a grin.
I grabbed a slice of warm bread and smeared it with honey, savoring the sticky sweetness. Lina dabbed a smear of honey from her cheek with her finger and giggled.
Father leaned back and tapped the table with his fingers. "I saw a fox near the orchard this morning. It stared at me like I was wearing the ugliest tunic in the world."
"A fashion-conscious fox!" Lina squealed, clapping her hands.
Father winked. "Exactly. Don't tell anyone, though."
I tore another piece of bread. "Do you think it'll still be around later?" I asked.
"Maybe it wants to watch us play," Lina said, smirking. "It might cheer for me."
"You're imagining things," I said, laughing. "Foxes don't cheer."
"They do in my dreams!" she insisted.
Father chuckled. "If it cheers for you, Lina, I expect a full performance report: hops, leaps, tail flicks—the whole thing."
"I'll write it!" she exclaimed, scribbling imaginary notes in the air.
The table erupted in laughter. Mother shook her head, smiling. "You two are incorrigible."
We lingered over our bread, teasing each other and savoring the warmth of the kitchen. Lina dropped a bit of honey on her sleeve, and I nudged her gently. "Careful, or the ants will find you." She giggled and wiped it away.
Finally, we finished breakfast, wiping crumbs from our tunics and making sure our satchels held water flasks, a small knife, and a few pieces of bread for later.
I turned to Mother. "May Lina and I go play on the hill after breakfast?"
Mother smiled warmly. "Yes, of course. Just remember to stay close to each other and don't wander too far. Come back before the sun sets."
Lina clapped her hands excitedly. "Yay! Thank you, Mother!"
Father grinned. "Well, now that permission's granted, you'd better be careful or the fox might cheer for me instead."
"Ha! You'd better watch out, Father," I teased, "I'll show it who's boss of the hill!"
Father laughed. "We'll see about that."
---
We grabbed our satchels and stepped outside. The air was cool against our skin, carrying scents of earth, grass, and wildflowers. The village was alive: chickens clucked near the pens, the blacksmith hammered at the forge, and a dog barked lazily at a fence.
The path twisted through the orchard, where apples hung heavy on the branches. I picked one, and Lina plucked a bright yellow blossom from the edge of the path.
"Look! It's mine!" she said.
"I claim it for my collection," I teased, pretending to lunge.
"No way! You already have ten of those," she protested.
"You can't count, apparently," I said.
She stuck her tongue out. "I can too!"
The orchard seemed endless, filled with rustling leaves, buzzing bees, and the distant hum of the village. A soft breeze carried the scent of fresh bread from someone's window. I breathed it in, savoring the moment.
We scrambled up the gentle slope of the hill, the earth soft beneath our hands and feet. Lina tripped over a hidden stone, and I caught her wrist. "Watch your step!" I laughed.
"Ha! I'll get you next time," she teased, brushing dirt from her tunic.
We tumbled down the hill, chased each other back up, hair sticking to sweat-damp foreheads. The hill carried the scent of earth and wildflowers, warmed by the sun, edged with the gentle chill of the afternoon breeze. A butterfly flitted past, bees hummed lazily, and birds called overhead.
---
By midday, our cheeks were flushed from running, and our stomachs rumbled. "I'm starving," Lina groaned, flopping onto the grass.
"Me too," I said. "Let's head back for lunch before we turn into fainting heroes."
Back in the kitchen, Mother had laid out bowls of warm vegetable stew and fresh bread. The aroma wrapped around us like a cozy blanket. We ate together, exchanging stories of our hill adventures.
"I saw the biggest butterfly ever!" Lina said between bites.
"I tried to catch a lizard, but it ran away," I added.
Father chuckled. "You two are already experts at the art of mischief."
Mother smiled, topping up our water flasks. "Enjoy your lunch, and then off you go—careful with the sun, and watch each other closely."
We finished the meal, lingering a moment to sip the last of the stew and wipe our mouths clean. Lina wiped a smear of soup from her chin. "All ready!" she said.
"Let's go," I agreed, slinging our satchels over our shoulders.
---
The path to the hill felt longer now, the sun climbing high above. The orchard stretched endlessly, and the village shrank behind us—a patchwork of rooftops, winding roads, and orchards bathed in sunlight.
We scrambled up the gentle slope, again tripping, laughing, and tumbling into the soft grass. The hill carried the scent of earth and wildflowers, warmed by the afternoon sun. A subtle wisp of smoke drifted across the distant hills, curling faintly in the wind—a shadow among the sunlit fields that tugged at the edge of my attention. I squinted at it, wondering if it was simply the farmers burning brush or something else. Lina, noticing my pause, asked, "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just imagining things, I suppose."
Lina found a small clump of wildflowers and held them out to me. "Look! Aren't they pretty?"
"They're beautiful," I said, taking them and twirling them between my fingers. "They smell like sunlight."
We lay on our backs, watching clouds drift lazily across the sky. The horizon glowed orange and pink, streaked with hints of violet. The warmth of the sun kissed our skin, and the wind carried the scent of earth and grass. I hugged my knees, listening to Lina's quiet hum beside me.
"Do you think someone's lighting a fire over there?" she asked softly, pointing to the distant wisp of smoke.
"Probably farmers burning old brush… nothing to worry about," I said, trying to sound certain. Yet a small unease lingered in my chest, though the hill's warmth and the breeze reassured me.
We chased each other again, rolling down the slope, laughing until our sides ached. Stones pressed into our palms, dirt smeared across our clothes. We spotted a lizard darting under a rock, and I tried to catch it, but Lina squealed and grabbed my arm, letting it scuttle free.
"Why didn't you catch it?" she teased.
"I let it go. You'd never forgive me if I squashed it," I said, brushing dirt from my hands.
We paused to sip water from our flasks, laughing quietly as the cool liquid slid down our throats. I noticed the village below, peaceful and untroubled, smoke curling lazily from chimneys. The sun's warmth made the stones on the path glow faintly under our hands.
Shadows stretched across cottages and orchards as the sun dipped lower. Birds settled for the night, crickets began their faint chorus. The village below quieted. I thought of my parents, busy with chores, of Lina's laughter, of Father's fox joke. All of it felt safe, warm, and endless.
As the sky deepened into orange and lavender, we lay in silence, listening to the wind through the grass and the distant hum of life. The hill cradled us, and my heartbeat slowed as the last rays streaked the sky.
"I wish we could stay here forever," Lina murmured, eyes tracing the clouds.
"Forever is a long time," I said. "But today… today feels close enough."
The final light stretched across the fields. Everything seemed serene, eternal, as if the world had paused to hold its breath. I closed my eyes, letting the hill cradle us, feeling safe, loved, and alive.
And as I drifted into gentle sleep under the soft warmth of the sun, I could not know that tomorrow, this perfect world—the laughter, the warmth, the village itself—would be swallowed in flames.