A shaft of soft golden light streamed through the small shining panes of the window, adding a warm glow to the polished surfaces of the comfortable and homely furniture. A log fire popped and crackled in the grate as the mingled aromas of sweet-smelling wood-smoke and freshly baked bread and pastries assailed his nostrils. Sitting at the table, Karryl gave heartfelt thanks for the food before filling a plate with a large piece of pie and some favourite vegetables. As he ate, he deliberately ignored the third door taking up the space where the dresser which Harrel had made should have been. He had some hard thinking to do, and he always maintained that he did his best thinking on a full stomach. What could have proved to be a traumatic experience had instead only served to strengthen his resolve, his new found determination to succeed putting extra edge on an already healthy appetite. Having cleared his plate, he cut a thick slice of still warm bread, covered it with a generous layer of butter, an equally generous layer of honey, and sat down in Harrel’s fireside chair.
