In 1956, during an excavation in Novgorod, Russia, archaeologists uncovered something completely unexpected: hundreds of thin birch bark fragments etched with words and drawings. The moist soil had preserved them for centuries. These fragile pieces contained messages, notes, and school exercises dating back to the Middle Ages. Among all these relics, some revealed a more personal and intimate story: that of Onfim, a young boy who lived in the 13th century.

Onfim was about six or seven years old when he carved into the birch bark. Like other children in Novgorod, he was learning to read and write Old Slavic by scratching the surface with a metal stylus. But as he copied prayers and practiced the alphabet, his imagination often took flight. Alongside his schoolwork, Onfim drew knights, animals, smiling faces, and defeated enemies, often signing his name next to the images, as if to claim authorship.

One of the most well-known fragments shows Onfim portraying himself as a hero, a knight charging into battle against a group of enemies. Next to the drawing, he wrote: “I am a fierce beast.” It was the fantasy of a child imagining himself strong, dreaming of becoming an unstoppable warrior. In another fragment, he tries to complete a lesson but gets distracted and sketches a friend instead. In yet another, he composes a short letter to his father.

These are simple documents, yet incredibly powerful. It is exceedingly rare in medieval history to hear the direct voice of a child, rarer still to see their drawings, their daydreams, their mistakes, their jokes. Onfim reminds us that even eight centuries ago, children got distracted in class, doodled in their notebooks, and imagined fantastic worlds.

We know nothing more about Onfim. No chronicler ever mentioned him. No text recounts his life. We don’t know what kind of person he became, whether he fulfilled his dream of becoming a knight, whether he ever fought in battle, or whether he kept on writing. And we may never know.