Birth of an heir

November had always been a bittersweet month for the common folk—a final burst of activity and joy before the long, unrelenting grip of winter. It was the last chance to gather the late harvests, with fields yielding turnips, pumpkins, and beets, the hardy crops that could withstand the year's waning days. This was also the season when peasants worked tirelessly to stockpile wood, knowing full well that by December,the grounds would be picked clean, and the bitter cold would bite at their doorsteps.

For those fortunate enough to live near dense forests, the task was easier, as fallen branches and dry sticks were plentiful. But even then, there were strict boundaries. The towering trees themselves belonged to their feudal lords, and felling one without permission was a grave offense. To be caught chopping down a tree was to be branded a poacher, and such a crime often ended at the gallows, swinging for all to see.