The carriage creaked to a halt beneath the looming canopy of trees, sunlight filtering through in dappled patches that shrouded the mossy forest floor. The air was cool and quiet.
Darian was the first to move, pushing open the door before stepping out; his metal boots crunching softly against the dirt. He turned without a word and offered a hand toward Sylteena.
She hesitated for a moment then took it.
The knight helped her down with grace before stepping aside as Philip followed, blinking into the outdoor contrast as he let out a soft grunt.
The three stood silently, staring at the view before them.
And there it stood—or slouched, more accurately.
A rickety house of sun-bleached wood and sinking pillars, as though it was trying to melt into the earth out of sheer embarrassment.
One shutter hung off its hinge, swaying with the breeze. The steps were crooked, and the chimney coughed smoke sideways.
Philip stared at it with a squint. "…Someone lives here?"
