For Henry, the lodge wasn’t just a home—it was a haven, a place where he could feel at peace with himself and the world. His days revolved around tending to the land and the small flock of animals he kept for company.
This particular morning, the cold seemed sharper, cutting through the air like a knife. Frost clung to the windows, creating intricate patterns that glistened in the pale light of dawn. Henry sat at the kitchen table, nursing his coffee and looking out at the snow-covered landscape.