The days slipped by unnoticed. In the blink of an eye, the mountain forests had recovered to forty percent of their state before the fire.
After the spring planting outside the city, time seemed to quicken its pace, as if swept along by a silent spring breeze.
Although the Wilderness Rice in the fields wasn't cultivated with rotted-flesh soil, it never stopped growing, fed by the fertile land left by the fire and an abundant water supply. It now stood as high as a person's calf.
The rice stalks swayed gracefully in the gentle spring wind. The farmers, with persistent smiles on their faces, busied themselves in the fields, personally pulling out the weeds that had taken root to compete for nutrients, as if they were weeding out the hardships of the future.
