There was such a sharp, sweet nostalgia that came with the sound of oak-wood chunks clunking down in the black, cold hearth. It was the sound of autumn, of impending winter, of another change in the seasons. The warmth of sunny afternoons would not keep the Boarding House comfortable through the nights anymore, nor would they again until the following spring. The sound heralded cozy woolen blankets, roaring fires, and hot cider.
The ache in her right knee throbbed as she crouched by the fireplace, striking a match to a handful of kindling that was stuffed under the logs. Her leg would never let a change in the weather go unnoticed. The soft relief that came with summer's hot, damp caress was ebbing away. Winter's touch would be stiff and painful.
She reached up to grab the corner of the mantel, then pulled herself to her feet with much puffing and grunting. When the house was empty, she didn't try to stifle the sounds of her struggles. Pumpkin was certainly used to it, and showed no alarm, continuing uninterrupted in the cleaning of her outstretched hind-paw from her spot upon Tumunir's bed.
Taite stood for a time, leaning her weight onto her left foot as she often did without thinking. Thoughtful, moss-green eyes wandered lazily across the wide-open room of the house. This had been her home for two full years now. Many faces had come and gone, leaving behind memories and tales both joyous and sad. Tumunir's bed was the only one that held a permanent indentation in its center; Pumpkin's favorite place to curl up and nap.
She heard someone sighing, long and deep, and realized it was her own breast rising and falling. She could not help thinking of Maurr and Doc. How she missed them still! Had they moved on once more to some far-off mountain hall, to spend the winter with their kin? She hoped they were safe. Warm. Happy.
A sudden scratching at the window caught her attention, and thrust her out of her reverie. A fat, brown squirrel was scuttling across the sill with cheeks full of acorns. Pumpkin sat up like a bolt, white-socked foot still stuck comically into the air. But comfort won, and she did not leap for the window and the stimulating creature on the other side of the glass. Taite watched as the squirrel rippled across the lawn and up into the apple tree. The bucket on the ground was empty, but the branches drooped with unpicked fruit.
It would not do to let it go to waste. And there wouldn't be another crop of apples again this late in the season. Not when she had seen thick frost on the eaves and the grass the past two mornings. Blowing out a loud breath through her lips, she glanced at her cat and announced, "Best get to it!"
