CHAPTER EIGHTThe Enchantment of Apples
The room contained a vaulted ceiling and windows which opened onto a snow-covered valley. Hand blown glass bore myriad imperfections which marred the vista and forced me to peer through. The landscape appeared bleak, yet bright with the whiteness of a frozen world. Dining tables littered the space, hewn from planks of raw wood and accompanied by benches. The primitive dining room felt recently vacated. “I did not eat here.” I clasped my fingers together and assessed my level of isolation in my previous stay. The surge of anguish at the people’s rejection surprised me with its bite. “Only in the chamber I slept in or the wash room.”
Limah shrugged and his dark eyelashes fluttered. I saw a flash of sympathy which came and went without leaving a trace.
