Explore "When the Birds Fly South" by Stanton A. Coblentz on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was indeed a happy day when I regained the use of my legs and staggered out of my log prison.
Now for the first time I saw the village of Sobul. It was composed of several scores of cabins like that in which I had been confined; and these were sprawled over a broad clearing, separated from one another by considerable spaces. Beyond the furthest houses the open fields stretched on all sides for half a mile or more, some of them tawny brown with the ripening wheat, or green with flourishing herbs in long tilled rows; while herds of half-wild goats browsed among the meadows, and gnarled old orchard trees stood in small groves varied by grapevines scrambling over mounds of earth.