On a normal day, Chase Lockwood could be found relaxing in the small grove that stood across the river from the small village of Brimdale. One could always expect to see Chase sprawled out under the same silverleaf tree.
On a normal day, Chase would spend his time pondering. He let his imagination run wild. When he wasn’t pondering he was exploring- he explored the grove and all of its small caves. He would spend days exploring nonstop.
On a normal day, the villagers would scoff the carefree attitude of seventeen-year-old chase. Such a strong and intelligent young man should be putting his talents to use as a blacksmith or a soldier, like his father. Chase was good with a forge and was exceptional with a sword, yet, being condemned to a life of manual labor and physical exertion.
On a normal day Chase would be outside, despite the weather, always in his small grove, at peace with himself and at peace with life.
On the morning of the first snow of winter, Chase had no way of knowing that day would be far from normal.
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