The sun had set hours ago, bringing with it a chill that turned the ever-present mists of the Vale into a layer of frost that clung to delicate leaves and formed faint flowers of ice at the edges of the numerous shallow puddles that dotted the area where Ashlynn's coven watched over Isabell.
A warm campfire burned merrily in the center of a circle of stones where Ollie carefully tended to a number of cast-iron pots and a small iron 'oven' half buried in the coals of the fire, which Ollie promised would produce a fresh-baked loaf of bread. The scents of stewing vegetables, fresh herbs, and roasting meat blended with the sharp aroma of woodsmoke and the cold night air to create a feeling that was uniquely intimate in the space that would become their Enchanted Grove.
