A Glimpse of Grandfather's Past

The scent of woodsmoke and damp earth clung to Carter's clothes like a second skin. He’d spent the better part of the morning helping Brother Thomas mend fences, his hands raw and calloused despite the surprisingly tough leather gloves the monk had provided. The scholar, a gentle soul with eyes that held the quiet wisdom of ancient trees, had been surprisingly patient with Carter’s clumsy attempts. He’d explained the intricacies of the wooden palisade, the way the sharpened stakes were meant to deter not just wild animals but also the occasional band of opportunistic brigands that roamed the less-traveled roads.

“Your hands are not accustomed to such labor, young one,” Brother Thomas had said, his voice a soft murmur, as he wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “But a strong back is a virtue, and a willing spirit even more so.”

Carter had merely nodded, his mind still grappling with the sheer physicality of this world. Back home, his biggest exertion was usually reaching for the remote or kicking a football around the park. Here, every task demanded a sweat-drenched, muscle-aching effort. Yet, a strange satisfaction bloomed within him with each completed plank, each secured post. It was a tangible accomplishment, a stark contrast to the ephemeral nature of his predicament.