Chloe’s pov
The late afternoon sun broke through the white mist, casting a soft, golden glow across the cobblestone porch of our small stone cottage.
I swept the dry pine needles off the wooden steps, the rhythmic brush of the broom the only sound on the quiet, narrow street. Inside, Lisa was resting by the hearth, exhausted from our fast ride south. Ted was still down at the lumber yard near the wagon post, earning silver so we could buy fresh bread and winter supplies.
A quiet rustle of dried leaves echoed from the front garden gate.
I paused, leaning against the wooden broom handle, and looked up.
Walking slowly up the stone pathway was an ancient, stooped woman wrapped in a faded, dark wool shawl. A thick, gnarled oak walking stick clicked against the flagstones with every deliber
