Jasmine Sooth knelt at the hearth in her cottage. With twilight handing the day to night it was permissible to light fires, and she sighed relief to be able to finally boil some water. She began piling the logs beside the grate before placing a flame to the tinder in the cast-iron fireplace. It took a few moments, and then a rich blaze licked and took hold of the fragile kindling. Carefully placing the firewood in the grate she stood and returned to her comfy chair, a mass of throws and blankets, before stopping at the window. Lifting the heavy black curtain slightly she looked towards the rising cliffs, and stared for a moment at the summit.
It was cloudy, and the wind was churning it angrily. A gust rattled the blossoming trees in the garden and sent a whistling draft through the kitchen. The chimney groaned mournfully.
‘Benjamin,’ she called, her voice mellifluous. Instantly she heard her son’s feet on the floorboards above, and a few moments later he was pounding down the first few steps of the staircase. He remained at the top, and ducked between the banisters. ‘yeah, ma?’
‘Stay in tonight,’ she said, turning back to the window as a hail of pink blossom whipped passed the frame.
He stood, and was about to go - then ducked again, ‘Why?’
Jasmine remained quiet for a moment, and then turned back to him. ‘Something’s coming… the wind’s picking up.’
Benjamin bit his bottom lip, and then returned to his room.