Some have come to call me the “Hermit of the Forest”, you know.
Actually, I’m not sure what you know. It’s not like I go around and get to know everyone. That’s just the last greeting that was given to me roughly half a season ago.
In truth, I live a little outside of the thick coniferous forest, towards the rocky hills where I get my water from. A cool river flows down from there, spotted with radiant-scaled fish and moss. You’d better practice your step on the stones or your feet will have a tendency to slip out from under you. My house is built of clay dug up from the river bank, an odd symbol to come out of my life.
In the summer I’m kept busy saving up for winter. Trapping lines and fishing nets me precious meat. Oh, I couldn’t stand eating only plants -believe me, I’ve tried. It goes the other way, too. I’d be miserable without the onions and ginger root from my puny garden.
How’d I get here, so far from everything