The afternoon sun hung low in the southern sky, casting long, gilded rays through the broad front window of the main hall. The valley had slipped into an absolute, golden stillness, wrapped in a blanket of white snow that glistened like glass under the crisp winter light. Outside, the cold was sharp enough to freeze breath into mist in an instant, but within the timber frame of the homestead, the heat was deep, steady, and enveloping.
The hearth sang with the soft crackle of aged oak logs, casting a rich amber glow across the dark river slate and the polished oak floorboards. Everything in the room—from the smooth, white lime plaster along the stone chimney to the heavy mortise-and-tenon joists overhead—felt completely anchored, as if the house had grown directly out of the mountain bedro
