Beam widened his eyes in terror and quickly hurried on his way.
As he walked further into town, more houses came into view. Thatched roofs and stone walls for the majority. Some white-washed, some with an abundance of wooden beams amongst the stonework, giving them support and style.
The majority of the houses were small one-story round houses, with just enough room for a small family and a crude chimney for the smoke at the very top.
Others were more modern, though much fewer in number. They were larger and more rectangular. Some even had multiple stories. Others still might have had small pieces of glass in tiny windows – a rare luxury.
As the path that Beam was following widened and he hit up the well-worn down dirt of the road, he began to see more people. There weren't lots of them about, maybe ten or twenty that he could see currently, but all of them were busy, as though they were in a rush to do something.
A group of three men walked past Beam, heading into the forest that he had just left, one with a bow over his shoulders and another with a knife at his hip for skinning game and a third still with a trapper's tools overflowing from the wooden-framed backpack he wore.
They cast him a cautious eye. They knew him, of course. In such a small village of a mere few hundred, everyone knew everyone. Yet, they did not call out to him. They did not even nod. But that was to be expected.
Not only were they hunters - earning significantly more than he did digging holes, and with a higher status for it too – they were also his elders by 10 or 15 years. There had been no reason for them to interact previously and there was no reason for them to interact now, especially given the difference in their appearances.
Whereas Beam had rarely looked worse – covered in blood and dirt – they were by comparison dressed in finery. In wool trousers that looked as though they were no more than a few years old. In leather boots that might even have been made to fit them perfectly. And with dyed woollen tunics over the top of them that might even have recently been considered fashionable.
They walked past each other without a single word.
The further down the road Beam went, the closer to the houses he came. He saw one family's cow lazily munching away on the grass, looking up at him with sleepy brown eyes, before going back to what she was doing.
Chickens were running about everywhere too. Some households had attempted to put fences up to keep them contained, whereas others seemed to have half given up, keeping the animals in check with food instead.
And with the livestock, there was a different animal too, occasionally getting in his way. Children. Beam grunted in distaste as one boy almost ran into him, without a single word of apology.
Usually at this time of year, just before winter began, even children would be busy helping to prepare for the cold. But it seemed they couldn't be contained too much, as, just like Beam had when he was their age, they still got in just enough time to play so that they did not tear up their houses with their antics.
One of the local mothers was standing washing clothes in a large wooden bucket by the door of her roundhouse hut, keeping an eye on her children as she did so. Seeing Beam, her look of contentment faded and was replaced by one of anxiousness.