The mid-day sun hung high over the southern valley, bathing the snow-covered basin in an intense, liquid radiance. The biting frost of the early morning had softened into a gentle, crisp air that carried the subtle, crisp tang of thawing earth and warming pine. Drops of meltwater fell rhythmically from the cedar roof eaves, tapping against the granite foundation stones below like the steady ticking of a quiet clock.
Inside the main hall, the interior was bathed in golden light that accentuated the smooth, flawless texture of the white lime plaster walls and the rich, natural grain of the oak floorboards. The central hearth burned with a soft, steady murmur, radiating a gentle warmth that balanced the fresh air drifting through the slightly cracked window casing.
I stood at the broad oak
