Morning Over Fernstead
The sun rose softly above the hills, spilling its gold across the endless sea of rice paddies. The water caught the light and shimmered like glass, rippling with the wind. The air was cool and full of the smell of wet earth the scent of a village that lived and breathed with the land.
Inside their small house, Elisha slept peacefully, her golden hair spread across the pillow like sunlight. The night of celebration had left her tired but smiling even in her dreams.
Outside, her husband Paul walked through the village paths with the newborn in his arms.
The baby's tiny hands waved in the air as Paul cradled him close, his deep laugh echoing through the morning mist.
He moved from house to house, greeting neighbors who had already seen the child the night before but still came running as if it were the first time.
"He looks just like you, Paul!"
"No, no he's got Elisha's face!"
Paul only grinned, proud and glowing, as he held the child up toward the light.
Along the narrow paths, the village children followed behind him barefoot, curious, full of laughter.
Among them was a small boy with short brown hair and bright eyes named Goru, only three years old, but already strong enough to help his father carry baskets of rice.
In his little arms, he held another baby a girl named Anna, her silver hair glinting softly under the sun. She was four months older than me, but the two of us were already called "the youngest of Fernstead."
The children walked together behind Paul, giggling and talking as if they understood the meaning of the day. Some tried to peek into the blanket wrapped around me, others whispered little blessings the way they had seen their parents do.
The whole scene looked like a painting a father walking proudly with his newborn, followed by children laughing through the rice fields, the morning sky wide and blue above them.
When Paul returned home, he placed me carefully inside a basket lined with soft, folded cloth the same kind my mother used for washing and sewing. The basket rested by the open window, where a gentle breeze brushed across my face.
Nearby, the village children sat in a circle.
They took turns pretending to guard the basket, standing tall like little soldiers, wooden sticks in their hands as if they were swords.
Paul chuckled as he watched them play.
"Good," he said, smiling. "You'll all protect him when I'm not here."
The children nodded with proud seriousness, though most of them soon lost focus and began chasing each other across the yard.
Inside, Elisha stirred awake as a soft voice called her name.
At the doorway stood a woman in travel clothes a cloak draped across her shoulders, her black hair tied neatly behind her.
Her name was Merlin Elisha's older sister, the Town Guard Captain from the nearby city of Rendar.
She had arrived early that morning, bringing medicine, cloth, and small trinkets for her newborn nephew.
When she stepped into the room, her hard expression softened.
"You've done well, little sister," she said, her tone melting into warmth. "He's beautiful."
Elisha smiled weakly, her voice tired but filled with joy.
"Thank you, Merlin. You came all this way..."
Merlin knelt beside the bed, helping to wash and tend to her sister, her movements steady and gentle despite the strength in her arms.
Even the tough soldiers who worked under her had never seen her this calm.
Outside, Paul's laughter still rang through the air.
Inside, Elisha whispered a prayer over me.
And the wind carried the smell of rice and flowers through the house soft, eternal, peaceful.
That was my world in its beginning.
A father full of pride,
a mother full of warmth,
and a village full of laughter.
No war. No fear.
Just Fernstead
the village where time itself seemed to rest.