Howling Fjord
It’s the small sounds, their absence, that I notice the most.
This morning, I did not hear Calida tearing up earth in the backyard, and I did not hear the scrape of Chesric’s boots on the upstairs floor. Always as quietly as he could, it seemed.
We’d fixed up the best space - the old Jarl’s quarters - for him. Every blanket and fur and
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