Beyond

Old friends

Alistair stepped through the doorway of Lysander and Matilda's house, the familiar warmth of their home greeting him like an old friend. The scent of roasted meat and vegetables, and simmering herbs wafted through the air, inviting and comforting. Lysander and Matilda's home had always been a place of solace—a refuge tucked away in the other side of the forest he had been patrolling for the day with the rest of his group.

Lysander and Matilda's cottage sat nestled deep within the forest, as though the trees themselves had grown around it to keep it hidden and safe. The front yard was a natural extension of the woods—untamed, yet inviting. Wildflowers bloomed in patches of sunlight that filtered through the canopy, and a narrow stone path, worn smooth by years of footsteps, led from the dense trees to the front door. Moss crept up the sides of the weathered stone walls, softening the edges of the cottage and making it look as if it had always belonged to the forest. Ivy draped lazily over the roof's eaves, adding to the sense of timelessness, while small wooden lanterns hung from iron hooks along the path, ready to guide any late-night visitor.

The door creaked slightly as it opened, welcoming him into the heart of the home. The foyer was small but inviting, its stone floors cool underfoot, contrasting with the warmth of the firelight that always seemed to flicker from the main room. A large, woven rug covered much of the stone, its deep reds and browns adding a sense of warmth to the otherwise neutral tones of the stone and wood. An old wooden bench, worn smooth by years of use, sat against one wall, while a coatrack made of twisted branches stood next to it, cloaks and scarves hanging loosely from its arms. The scent of fresh earth, woodsmoke, and herbs filled the air.

Beyond the foyer, the kitchen was a rustic, cozy haven where the smell of bread and stews often lingered. A large stone hearth dominated one wall, its fire constantly glowing, a kettle of something warm and hearty always hanging over the flames. Rough-hewn wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and dried herbs—lavender, sage, rosemary—hung in bunches, their fragrances mixing with the earthy scent of the fire. Open shelves lined the walls, displaying an assortment of mismatched clay pots, copper pans, and hand-thrown ceramic mugs. A long wooden table stood in the centre of the room, its surface marked with years of use—scratches and faded stains from countless meals prepared and shared. At one end of the kitchen, a small window framed by lace curtains overlooked the front yard, allowing sunlight to stream in during the day and casting a soft glow over the space in the evening.

Adjacent to the kitchen, the dining room exuded a similar rustic charm, but with a more formal, antique air. The table, though worn, was long and sturdy, made from dark mahogany that had been polished smooth over the years. It was surrounded by mismatched chairs, each one unique in design, yet they all seemed to belong together. A brass chandelier hung from the ceiling, its arms twisted into the shape of branches, casting a soft, warm light over the room. Candles lined the windowsills and mantel, their flickering flames reflecting in the glass-paned windows that looked out onto the forest beyond. In one corner stood an old, carved cabinet filled with delicate, antique porcelain that was rarely used but lovingly displayed.

The walls were adorned with tapestries and old paintings, their colours faded by time, but their beauty still striking. The atmosphere here was one of quiet, old-world elegance, the kind that had grown naturally over time rather than being curated. The overall feel of the cottage was one of deep, lived-in comfort—a place where time seemed to slow, where the past lingered in every corner, and where the warmth of the fire and the company of old friends made you feel like you never wanted to leave. Tucked away in the forest, it was more than just a home; it was a sanctuary, a place where magic and simplicity coexisted, and where anyone who stepped inside felt instantly at peace.

"Alistair!" Matilda's voice chimed from the kitchen, her energy as vibrant as ever. She emerged with a smile that lit up her entire face, her green eyes twinkling with warmth. "It's been too long since you visited us." Alistair smiled softly, the tension from his earlier encounter with Piper beginning to ease as he was enveloped by the familiarity of his old friends. "Far too long," he agreed, his deep voice calm yet carrying the weight of the day's events.