Keep digging
You grit your teeth as a cold wind blows into your doorway. You swing your pick in frustration, knocking away a huge slab of solid flint. Your pick sparks as the stone hits the cave floor with a thud.
You slump down on a bedroll of furpelts and watch the flickering home fire. It's been eight days since you arrived here.
Your doorway has turned into a deep, well-carved cave lacking only a fireplace, furnature, and a bit of smoothing and decorating.
Your hands throb and ache from all the hard labor as you hold them to the fire.
A bit of mead and sizzling meat takes your mind off of your exertions. You eat and drink as you catch glimpses of dragons sifting through your cave diggings for flint. Nothing goes to waste here it seems.
You sleep well that night.
You wake the next morning to heavy winter winds. Someone has covered you with furs. They smell like Coke. You wrap yourself in them and pick up your tools and head for your cave.
Written by SkyBrigidRain on 12 September 2017
