Morning arrives quietly over the Blue Ridge, the first light slipping through the tall windows in pale bands that stretch across the floor and climb slowly toward the bed. The mountains stand clear and endless beyond the glass, softened by a faint mist that lingers in the lower valleys while the higher ridges catch the early sun in muted gold.
Inside the suite the fire has almost died out, leaving only deep orange embers glowing between folds of pale ash. A faint warmth still lingers in the air from the night before, enough to keep the room comfortable without the need for blankets pulled high. The room smells faintly of cedar and linen and the distant trace of smoke from the hearth.
Willow wakes slowly.
