Chapter 80: The Many-Stoned Hearth
The journey home was a slow unwinding of tension, mile by familiar mile. Each landmark the gnarled oak at the crossroads, the hermit's spring, the hill where the first glimpse of the sea was a sparkling promise felt like a knot being loosened in their collective soul. The cart's wheels found the ruts leading to their cove with a homing instinct of their own.
When the cottage came into view, nestled in its green embrace, a silent shudder went through them all. It was whole. The wards had held, but more than that, it looked… patient. Smoke curled from the chimney (Finn's work), and the garden was a tangle of purposeful growth gone slightly wild in their absence. It wasn't a fortress awaiting its garrison. It was a home waiting for its heart to return.
