Chapter 91: The First Thread
Winter did not so much arrive as settle upon the cove like a great, damp bird folding its wings. Grey clouds sat low and constant, and the sea turned the colour of tarnished pewter, its waves arriving with a resigned, rolling sigh. Inside the cottage, however, the hearth-fire burned with a defiant, golden persistence. The rhythm of their lives had regained its familiar beat, but the melody had changed. It was played in a lower, more watchful key.
