Erik earned a comfortable living as the village woodcutter. It wasn't easy work. He had to rise early every morning, push his cart into the forest in all kinds of weather and spend the day felling trees and chopping logs and timber. Everyone in the village needed wood to make furniture and to fuel their stoves.
The forest covered a vast expanse of land and didn't miss the trees that Erik cut down. There were always saplings springing up to replace the trees that gave the woodcutter his living. The forest was Erik's world and he admired it and appreciated what it gave him.
Erik lived in a cottage at the edge of the village. He had built the cottage himself. Behind the house was the woodyard where Erik stored and shaped his timber. He was proud of where he lived, and every morning he walked into the forest, his axe slung over his shoulder, as if he was setting out on a new adventure.
But one day, something very strange happened.
When Erik went into the woodyard after breakfast to pick up his cart and tools, his axe was not in its usual place. The yard had been locked, so no one could have got in and stolen it. Erik scratched his head. He must have left his axe in the forest the night before, when he loaded his cart with timber to return home. Erik locked up the woodyard and hurried into the forest to find his axe.
He searched all day, but he could not find it. He was desperate. He certainly did not have enough spare cash to buy a new axe. It was becoming dark, and Erik sat down exhausted by the side of a path. Suddenly he became aware of an old man walking towards him.