A soft tapping at the window gap woke Arka just as dawn broke. There was no ear-splitting phone alarm. Only a gentle golden glow streamed inside, reflecting across the wooden floor of room number three. The morning air felt warm—a peculiarity of Velvetide that still made his chest tighten with wonder.
The calls of cawi birds beyond the window echoed back and forth. Their sharp, two-toned chirps shattered the silence of dawn, as though announcing that every corner of the velvet forest had awakened. Arka quickly turned toward the glass frame, watching two glossy black-feathered birds with forked tails perch for a moment on a pine branch before darting away through the thin mist. Arka swiftly snatched up his brown knitted jacket, draped it over his shoulders, then slipped a multipurpose folding knife into his pocket. He turned the iron key, pushed open his bedroom door, and strode down the empty corridor.
He had one destination: the lodge's back kitchen. The stilted kitchen carried a sharp scent—a blend of woodsmoke, clove brew, and the fragrance of wet earth. Three large clay jars stood in a row at the corner of the room, supplied with clear water from a bamboo spout outside the wall. Arka approached, reached for his cream enamel cup, and quickly dipped it into a jar of warm water. Screeech!
The wooden sliding door beside the kitchen was suddenly shoved open. A stocky middle-aged man stepped inside, carrying two woven baskets piled with dew-covered wild fruit. The man slammed the baskets onto the wooden table with a heavy thud. His sharp eyes flicked toward the enamel cup in Arka's hand. "You're the young man who arrived yesterday afternoon, right?" he greeted him in a deep, firm voice. "Call me Uncle Barna. I handle the kitchen supplies at Pondok Kayu Manis."
Arka straightened while holding his warm cup. "I'm Arka, Uncle." "A fine morning to start walking," Uncle Barna said as he scooped up a handful of small, dark-red berry-like fruits. Without warning, he suddenly tossed one toward Arka! Swish! Arka's reflexes kicked in. His hand shot through the air and caught the fruit in a single firm grip.
Uncle Barna chuckled softly at Arka's quickness. "Good. Eat it. A velvetberry. It's sweet, with a faint trace of cinnamon-wood tartness. Good for giving you energy before you explore farther."
Arka studied the smooth-skinned fruit for a moment, then tossed it into his mouth and chewed quickly. A burst of fresh sweetness exploded across his tongue, stoking his energy and bringing all his senses to life. "Mr. Danu said you brought an old map," Uncle Barna continued, pointing outside. "If you're following the Western Valley today, be careful on the hanging moss trail. It's steep and slippery, but there's a Wind Slope up there."
"Thanks for the advice, Uncle," Arka replied quickly. He drained the last of the warm water from his cup, rinsed it quickly at the bamboo spout, then hung the cup from his belt. Arka moved quickly without wasting time. He leaped down from the rear stilt stairs, jogged to his room to grab his olive canvas backpack, then made sure his grandfather's notebook and folding knife were secure in the outer compartment.
Crash!
The lodge's front door was shoved open. Arka's feet landed nimbly once more on the soft moss carpet. The morning air of the Velvetide season pierced his lungs with pure freshness. Arka tightened the backpack straps against his chest, adjusted the grip of his boots on the ground, then ran over a gap between pine roots toward the Western Valley trail—ready to conquer the steep path and uncover the next secret in the velvet land!