The kitchen was already alive when I walked in. The air was thick with heat and smoke, carrying the strong smell of roasted deer meat, gotten from wolf hunting. Mixed with the sweetness of bread baking in the clay oven. Pots clattered on the fire, the sound of boiling water bubbling over. Wooden spoons struck the inside of big bowls, and the sharp thud of knives against cutting boards echoed like a rhythm that never stopped.

I forced myself to smile, even though my chest still felt heavy. ...