The afternoon sunlight hung loosely over the mountain ridge. The midday heat had subsided a bit, but the soil still smelled of being warmed by the sun, and the dry grass crunched underfoot.

The village I first came down to was quieter than I thought. After taking a few wrong turns at crossroads, the path was now leading between trees and soil instead of houses where people lived.

It was then.

Thud.

Thud.

The sound of someone digging soil could be heard not far away.

A low mountain slope revealed itself through the trees. Beneath it, a black-haired man was crouching. A shovel was held in one hand, and the soil he had just dug up formed a small mound at his feet.

The man seemed quite focused on something. The shovel blade cut through the soil, and he smoothed the softly dug spot once with his hand. He paused for a moment to look down inside. Then, as he sensed a presence, his movements stopped.