Chapter 2

  Blessings of the Mountain Village

  The mountain village changes its colors and scents with each passing season.

  In spring, meltwater from the snow filled the fields, and young leaves and flowers began to bud one after another along the mountain slopes. When people sowed seeds and shaped the rows in their fields, the soft scent of freshly turned earth drifted all the way to the eaves of the houses.

  In summer, the mountain streams ran clear, silver fish darting across the surface. The laughter of children echoed through the valleys, while in the shade of trees the elders sat together, enjoying the cool air and lively conversation.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  In autumn, it was the season of harvest. Branches bent low under the weight of ripe fruit, and barns filled with grain and nuts.

  At dusk, faint songs of celebration for the bounty drifted from somewhere in the village.

  In winter, the mountains lay beneath a blanket of white snow, and the stillness outside deepened. Villagers gathered around the hearth, sharing preserved foods and easing the long nights with the sound of stories.

  Here, a meal was never just for one household. Crops from the fields and game from the hunt were shared, and it was common to gather at another family’s table.

  If illness or injury struck, those with herbs and knowledge were the first to offer help. Children—no matter whose—were raised by the village as a whole. The blessings of the mountain village were not only food for survival, but also the bonds that tied its people together.

  For Maya, this way of life was simply the way things were. In the morning, someone would always greet him when he stepped outside. When he hopped across the stream’s stones, an older child would laugh and lend him a hand. By evening, he might find himself seated at some family’s table, and at night, he would fall asleep to the sound of Amna’s voice telling a story.

  He did not yet know how precious these days were. To him, the seasons of the village and the smiles of its people were the whole of his world.

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  AI disclosure: I am a non-native English writer and have used AI for partial translation and light editing. No AI-generated prose.