The smell of sausages woke Zix up. His father had the habit of getting up earlier than him and already cooking breakfast. Zix knew that if he wasn't out of bed by the time the wooden plates had hit the table his dad was going to give him a hard time. He heard a sigh and quickly sat up straight in his bed. He put on his shirt as he walked over to the small table. Two wooden blocks were used as stools and the table was low, functional and simple. The two men ate, not uttering a single word. After the sausage, an apple and a lump of bread the men got up grabbed their axes and marched out the door.
The air was fresh and clean, Zix took a deep breath and let the air flow in. His dad nodded at him, which he did every morning to indicate that the day and thus the work had started. Lach walked over to the small yard next to the shack. His dad would tend to the vegatables in the garden and afterwards would start cutting the wood into either firewood or rough planks. Zix job was to find good trees, big ones, cut them down and take parts of them over to his dad. Zix nodded back and wanted to take off in the opposite direction. His dad however had different plans and called his name.
"Cut some firewood," he spoke, "the folks in town need it." The old man was still strong as a bear, but he rarely spoke. Zix followed suit nodded again and started cleaving some wood. He packed the wood on a simple stick pack, which he slung over his shoulder, he also filled a wheelbarrow with firewood and made for the town. The small, dirt road would lead him to the village as he heard a dog barking in the distance.
The air was fresh and clean, Zix took a deep breath and let the air flow in. His dad nodded at him, which he did every morning to indicate that the day and thus the work had started. Lach walked over to the small yard next to the shack. His dad would tend to the vegatables in the garden and afterwards would start cutting the wood into either firewood or rough planks. Zix job was to find good trees, big ones, cut them down and take parts of them over to his dad. Zix nodded back and wanted to take off in the opposite direction. His dad however had different plans and called his name.
"Cut some firewood," he spoke, "the folks in town need it." The old man was still strong as a bear, but he rarely spoke. Zix followed suit nodded again and started cleaving some wood. He packed the wood on a simple stick pack, which he slung over his shoulder, he also filled a wheelbarrow with firewood and made for the town. The small, dirt road would lead him to the village as he heard a dog barking in the distance.
