Even at the end of December, the heart of the lush green forest was still vibrant and verdant.
On the banks of a crystal-clear stream, Byron rolled up his sleeves and added the final shovel of soil to a small spice sapling in front of him.
He then took out the Warrior's Cup and recited the inscription, 'Spring Flow Inscription!' A continuous flow of fresh water streamed out, thoroughly watering the sapling.
The farm compost was still in the process of decomposition, so that would have to wait until next time.
By his side, Catherine, dressed in long pants and short boots, also put away the dozen or so spades she had mimicked with her [Mithril Hand] and unceremoniously plopped down on the ground.
Covered in sweat, she had soaked through the back of her shirt, making it semi-transparent.
