Acceptance and moving forward

Months had passed, and the brisk winds of autumn were now in full swing. The days seemed noticeably shorter than before, and the air carried a crisp chill, with temperatures gradually dropping.

Sighing, I turned towards my fellow miners in the group, who were arranged in a line on my left. Each of them was diligently working on their section of the wall-like rock in front of us, the relentless sound of their pickaxes hitting the rock creating a cacophony of clanks and thuds that resonated within the nearby area.

Not to mention the pervasive scent of sweat that hung in the air. It was only thanks to the occasional cold breeze that wafted over us, briefly dissipating the familiar stench of sweat, before it inevitably returned once more.

I withdrew my gaze and turned to look at my right hand, which was firmly gripping the handle of my pickaxe, its head resting on the ground below. The muscles in my right arm had grown significantly over the past months. Comparing it to my broken left arm