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Page 10. Almost the last thread on the catalog. Time for an interlude.
...
You are no longer Fiona Jarnafeldt. No, no. You are not your beloved daughter.
You are Oscar Jarnafeldt. Groundskeeper.
Today, you set your forest on fire.
It's a natural part of the process of keeping a forest. To maintain a forest that is fire resistant, you have to set it on fire quite often. It's been a few years, and the undergrowth was approaching its critical mass. Leave it idle for too long, and the flora would grow and swell to such a degree that it would be kindling enough to burn even the veterans when the next fire, inevitably, comes.
Scientists and gatherers had their pickings of the fruits and fungus and that which remains within. Some animals have been escorted outside of its natural habitat, in case of the worst case scenario. Though the origins are artificial, the rest is the course of nature and your care.
Plumes of smoke shuffle through openings in the boughs like chimney for miles. The green and hazy forest beneath the canopies has been painted an orange hue.
Smoking is not permitted as it affects the behavior of animals, but they've long since cleared out. Pipe in mouth, you hash and slash at tall vegetation with your scythe so it burns easier, and away from the trees. It is calming work.
