Beyond the crooked gate, a muddy track curled towards the hall. Pale mist lay like a woollen blanket over the sleeping fields. The wind tugged impatiently at the thatch. Inside, the hearth was a golden heart, warming the shadowy room. Red embers winked beneath the logs, and smoke drifted lazily towards the rafters. From the smithy came the blacksmith’s steady blows: clang, clang, clang. The sharp scent of woodsmoke mingled with the warm smell of bread. Sweet honey clung to my tongue as I watched the fire. Outside, wet willows waved beside the stream.