A long, long time ago there was a village north of the winter mountains and south to the sea. There was nothing special about this village. It had a carpenter, a blacksmith, a doctor, a apothecary, a tailor and a mason. Most of the land was managed by farmers who lived on the land and paid rent to the landowners. On one of theses lands lived a family of five, a boy, his two sisters, his mother and his father. The father worked the land from early morning till twilight and when he was home he would sit in his favorite chair in front of the fire place, smoking his favorite tobacco pipe. The mother spent most of her days cooking and cleaning from the moment she woke up until all her children were in bed.
When the father wasn’t tired he would tell the most magnificent stories, keeping his children on their toes. They were always eager to hear them, but it was only during the winter they could hear those stories while spring, summer and fall the father didn’t have time at all. The father plodded away at the land, his days were long and travail. The father worked even harder when rent was due. The landowner never failed to show up on his black Clydesdale horse, Constable as the horse was called. The Lord, as one was to address the landowner, dressed in a noble fashion, never failed to show up, always on the same day around the same time and if father didn’t have the money. The Lord would become very displeased.
The boy, whose name was Gregory always admired the Lord, but nonetheless feared him so. The Lord wasn’t cruel as most landowners could be. He was a quiet man rarely showing his emotions except for his quick choler when something wronged him. The Lord lived by himself, in a home that was too large for one person. George had only been to his house once, when his father paid the rent late. The Lord was never mean to George, but he never acknowledged him either. He felt like a ghost that the Lord never saw or heard.
Winter was only a few days away. Soon father would be sitting in his chair, smoking his pipe and telling his stories to George and his sisters while his mother baked delicious winter pies. George just couldn’t wait. That fall George was made to work alongside his father and their two horses. The days were long and exhausting, by dinner time George could barely stay awake and would fall asleep at the table. In the middle of the night, he would find himself tucked in bed, knowing his father had put him there.
When winter arrived, George had forgotten all about the stories and pies, but not his sisters who were still too young and awaited eagerly for father’s stories. George looked out the window pleased to not have to plow the lands since snow had begun to fall. The father settles in his favorite chair near the fireplace and lit his tobacco pipe. His sisters were sitting near his feat, appetence for him to begin his tales.