It was winter.
Snow fell in silence, like a thick veil over the small, isolated ranch near the village of Kazan. The sharp crack of axe strikes pierced through the cold whisper of the icy wind — a harsh and familiar symphony.
"Samo!" — barked a hoarse voice from the cabin's entrance.
"Help me with the supplies!"
Ivan appeared, wrapped in a worn fur cloak, carrying a large bundle of provisions and tools on his back. His steps left deep prints in the accumulated snow.
From behind the cabin, Samo emerged. No longer the baby found in the river, but a grown man — broad-shouldered and solid in presence. His wavy red hair fell to his neck, and though his leather clothing was modest, it barely kept the cold at bay. In his right hand, he held a long axe that looked small compared to his stature.
"Let me help, father," Samo said naturally, grabbing the bundle with one hand — the weight meant nothing to him.
As he walked back toward the cabin, he heard:
"Samo."
He stopped.
He turned, curious, and saw Ivan standing there, framed against the white backdrop of the snow, holding a sheathed sword out toward him. The gesture was solemn, firm.
Samo's eyes widened. His axe dropped into the snow with a dull thud. He approached slowly, hands trembling, and accepted the sword as if receiving a sacred relic.
Tears rolled down his face.
"Thank you... father," he said, voice choked with emotion.
He then drew the blade from its sheath.
It was a simple sword, made of honest steel. No adornments, no magic. But its edge gleamed in the snowy light, and the guard was firm. The weapon's simplicity told a story: it was the best a lumberjack's savings could buy — and the best a father could offer his son.
Ivan smiled, a quiet pride in his eyes.
"Why not give it a try?" he said.
"Use it on those stumps instead of the axe. I want to see how you do."
Samo nodded, his eyes still moist. He positioned himself in front of the chopped logs, adjusted his feet, and raised the sword. The blade trembled slightly in his hands, excited by his first gesture.
Ivan, arms crossed, watched intently.
"It may not look like it..." he said with a nostalgic smile, "but your old man used to be a knight... before becoming a lumberjack."
Samo took a deep breath. And then, with a cry held in his chest, he struck the stump with precision.
The blade cut clean.