The afternoon sun slanted golden across Elden Hollow, painting the village in soft, peaceful light. Adam sat on the porch steps, cradling a mug of Aish's herbal cider—cool, faintly sweet, with a hint of spice that warmed the throat. He sipped slowly, letting the quiet sounds of the village wash over him.
Philip settled beside him with his own mug, the pile of split firewood now neatly stacked and covered behind them.
Adam turned to the older man, voice quieter than he intended. "Philip… may I ask about Aish's illness? You mentioned the Silverveil helps, but only for a time."
Philip's gaze drifted toward the open door where Aish was humming softly as she prepared supper. His eyes softened with a love worn smooth by decades, yet edged with helpless pain.
