The day was warm, and a balmy breeze blew across the fields just outside the old forest. The sun shone down without a single cloud to block its loving rays. The scent of sun-kissed blueberries clung to the noses of the three boys who laid in the fields, their backs resting on the cool, damp ground beneath the grass. With closed eyes and slow breathing, they napped.
Each of them was supposed to be working at their family shops, but none cared to on such a lazy, sunny day. Every one of the three boys simply soaked up the sun as he dreamed of the only thing any solid boy of thirteen cared for: girls. One dreamed of the baker’s daughter, plain and pretty. She always smelled of cinnamon. Another fantasized about the smith’s daughter, and how dark and mysterious she was. The young woman always avoided talking to boys, and none of the other girls in town spoke of her, save in passing. The third boy dreamed of the tailor and her round, womanly figure. She was a widow who was kind, but kept distant from the local children, as though she was wary of becoming too friendly with them.
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