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Horman lay quietly on the wolf skin mattress, only a six-year-old child, but he looked like an adult, putting his hands behind his head to make his posture more suitable for thinking.
This is a small mountain village in Yangcheng, under the rule of Zhou. Its name is Wang Yao Village.
It was an early summer afternoon.
The sun is shining outside the window and the wind is dancing. Through the window paper with several small holes, mottled light and shadow fell on me, warm and comfortable. Although birds fly low from time to time, it seems noisy, but it makes people feel very quiet.
Occasionally, a fat, sultry black cat passes by the tiles on the roof. Its claws are gently lifted and lowered, and then it swoops down, making birds fly around. Although I can only laugh while watching the birds fly away, the black cat never cares. Elegant, agile, and never tired of it.
Home reluctantly smiled and looked back.
The layout of the room is simple to almost nothing, but there are many skins nailed to the board neatly placed in the corner of the room, but it seems that they have not completely dried, and the seemingly smooth fur still has a somewhat fierce and wild Shan Ye flavor. Next to it are several hunting forks and long guns. Dark but sharp.
Hanging on the wall is a picture.