The world was blurry when Samantha opened her eyes again. Shapes moved gently around her like the ghostly shadows of a half-remembered dream. Warmth pressed beneath her fur, straw, and the softness of a handmade cot. The air was thick with the scent of burning herbs, wood smoke, and something… metallic.
She blinked.
Not once. Not twice. But over and over until the dim interior came into view.
Two women sat nearby older, weathered with time. Their lined faces showed neither fear nor anger, only a strange blend of caution and care. One of them leaned forward, speaking softly.
“Who are you, my child?” the elder woman asked, her voice like water over stones. “And how do you feel?”
Samantha’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came.
Is this a dream? she wondered. Am I back at Black Ridge
