Chloe’s pov
Inside, the warm, orange glow of the hearth fire flickered across the stone walls, filling the small room with the dry scent of burning pine. Lisa stood near the wooden table, her hands resting over her apron, watching the blind seer with silent, unshakeable respect.
I guided the Old Witch to the low wooden bench by the hearth. Her thin frame felt frail under her wool shawl, her stooped shoulders trembling slightly as she leaned her gnarled oak walking stick against the stone mantel.
The front latch clicked again.
Ted stepped into the cottage, carrying a leather sack of oak kindling over his broad shoulder. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his dark linen shirt sticking to his broad chest from his work down at the timber yard. He paused the second he saw the blind seer sitti
