He returned to the stove with a basket full of vegetables. A large iron pot sat atop the stone structure, ready for use. He retrieved a wooden bucket of water from the corner of his cottage. Pouring the clear, cold liquid into the pot, he settled the bucket with a satisfied sigh.
It was now time for the fire. Erik reached into a pile of gathered, dry twigs and logs. These were meticulously placed inside the stove, their brittle forms ready to be consumed.
He struck the flint against the steel, and the resulting spark danced its way to the dry fuel. A hungry flame leaped up, eager to consume the offerings, and soon a warm, crackling fire was burning brightly, casting flickering shadows that danced on the walls of his treetop home.