In the following days, the cabin settled into a soothing rhythm. Each morning, Asbel attended to Ketcha's wounds with tender care, using salves crafted from herbs native to the Valley. He would share tales of his daily endeavors – mending windmills, digging wells, and aiding in the Valley's reforestation efforts.
The cabin itself was a haven of warmth and comfort. Its wooden walls, the soft flicker of oil lamps in the evenings, and the cozy furnishings created a sanctuary where Ketcha felt secure and nurtured. From the large window, she gazed out at the verdant forest, a constant testament to the Valley's serene beauty.
Her own corner in the cabin was a quaint nook by the window, perfect for restful contemplation. A hand-woven rug lay beneath her feet, and on a small wooden table beside her rested a pitcher of water and a bowl of fresh fruit. The window framed the dense woods outside, where beams of sunlight pierced through the foliage, creating a dance of light and shadow across the cabin floor.
Asbel's periodic visits throughout the day were a comfort to Ketcha. He would bring meals, engage in conversation, or read passages from his extensive collection of books. These interactions eased the weariness in her soul, gradually loosening the persistent hum that echoed in her mind.
Yet, each night as she peered out of her window, a lingering unease crept over her. Despite the tranquility of her surroundings, she couldn't shake the feeling of being observed, an inexplicable sensation that disturbed the peace of her sanctuary.
