The morning after the deep mid-winter freeze broke across the valley, a soft, pale lavender twilight settled over the frosted hills. The sun remained hidden behind the jagged rim of the eastern ridge, but the high canopy of the winter sky was already turning a brilliant, pale blue. Outside, a gentle mountain breeze brushed through the bare branches of the apple orchard, sending light sprays of powdered snow drifting down onto the crisp white crust below.
Inside the central hall of the homestead, the quiet was profound and absolute. The hearth burned with a deep, steady hum, its bed of aged oak coals radiating a thick wave of heat across the dark river slate and out into the warm timber frame.
I stood at the long oak workbench, holding a thin copper stylus and a small sheet of vellum. I w
