The sky was still clear, but the wind began to sweep across the treetops, stronger than usual, carrying with it the smell of rotting wood and salt from the sea that drifted deep into the forest. The leaves rustled, and the vines on the roof of the hut made small noises like the crackling of fire licking at dry wood. From the distant horizon, black clouds were gathering, one after another, like gray cloth slowly being unrolled by unseen hands.
Lucas rested his chin on his knees, looking up: “The wind’s too strong… looks like rain’s coming?”
Lucy hugged her shoulders, shivering: “I’m freezing. My skin’s all prickled.”
Stella glanced at Ethan: “The wind’s strong from this direction. A thunderstorm… it’s possible.”
Ethan gave a slight nod, his hand gripping the rope holding the roof in pla
