I woke before the light did.
Not because of a sound—there was no howl, no knock, no bell—but because the bond had tightened in the night the way muscles tighten around an old injury. It wasn’t pain. It was readiness.
Outside, the fields were still dark, the shapes of hedgerows and stone walls only hinted at by a thin wash of grey. The house held its breath. Even the kettle seemed too loud when I set it on the hob.
I stood at the sink and watched the first smear of dawn move across the glass like a hand wiping condensation away.
Somewhere, very far away, someone was choosing words.
Somewhere closer, someone had already repeated them.
By the time the sun touched the top of the nearest hill, I heard the first engine. Not a farm truck. Not one of the villagers heading to the early milkin
