ALLE
This is the second time I've been to Winter's cabin, but I've never actually stepped inside before.
It's beautiful.
The word feels inadequate the moment I think it, but it's the only one that fits. The interior is warm—not just temperature-wise, though there's a fire crackling in a stone fireplace that takes up most of one wall. It's warm in the way spaces feel when they're actually lived in.
Wooden beams tower overhead, dark and and walls are lined with shelves holding books in Braille, their spines unmarked to my eyes but clearly organized in some system that makes sense to Winter. And everywhere—absolutely everywhere—there are carvings.
Blind wolves, mostly. Some small enough to fit in my palm, others large enough that they must have taken weeks to complete. They're scattered
