Morning light filtered through the wooden slats of the cabin windows. Keal stirred awake, rubbing his eyes as he noticed the bed beside him was empty.
"Father Oliver?" he muttered groggily, pulling the blanket away.
He stepped outside and found Oliver already hard at work chopping wood. Nearby, Eira was kneading dough with practiced hands, her sleeves rolled up and her brow lightly dusted with flour.
"Oh, you're up," Eira called with a warm smile. "Go wash your face."
Keal nodded and headed toward the water pump.
From the edge of the forest, Helena returned, holding a basket of freshly gathered eggs. "The village people are very kind," she remarked.
Eira smiled and nodded. "Yes, they are."
Helena glanced at the dough. "Are you making bread?"
"Just about finished," Eira said, shaping the dough into loaves and placing them in the furnace.
Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she moved aside as Helena crouched near the campfire, frying the eggs.
