Magnus stirred from his slumber as the first rays of dawn filtered through the thick forest canopy above. He yawned, stretching out his muscular arms before rising from the pile of furs that covered his bed. The wooden floorboards creaked under his bare feet as he made his way outside, gazing up at the pink sky. His keen ears twitched, picking up the usual sounds of waking wildlife in the undergrowth. All was as it should be.

With a satisfied grunt, Magnus scratched at his chest and turned to make his way back inside.

"Morning,"

he grumbled and patted the trunk of a mighty oak which hovered over the roof oh his hut.

"Good morning, old friend."

The oak creaked.

"I'm going to make some porridge,"

Magnus continued, walking towards the door.

"Do you want some?"

The oak creaked again.

"I'll take that as a no."

Magnus returned inside, pulling open the latch on his pantry and reaching for the pot. It had been a quiet few weeks with no unwanted visitors to drive off. He had been enjoying peace and quiet.

Magnus scooped out some porridge into his bowl, added some honey, poured some goat's milk over the top, and set in on the stone stove, lighting the wood up. The smell of cooking porridge started to fill the hut - the sweet aroma of honey and the earthy scent of woodsmoke.