The cottage was warm with stew and glowing sunrise.

A soft orange glow from the window lit Wrenlow’s face as she dropped herbs into a bubbling pot.

Dawn sat cross-legged by the counter, peeling root vegetables with her tiny hands, tongue sticking out with focus.

“Not too thick,” Wrenlow reminded, slicing a turnip. “Thinner cuts cook faster.”

“I know,” Dawn huffed, proud. “Mama used to say the same.”

Wrenlow paused. A shadow passed through her eyes. “Yes... she ...