Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
The crunch of gravel beneath my boots and the steady panting of Brunno at my side are the only sounds that pierce the early morning quiet. The hill's incline isn't steep, but it's enough to make my heart beat a little faster, my breath a little shorter. The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting long shadows and painting everything in a soft, ethereal light. The cool breeze whispers through the tall grass, carrying with it the sweet scent of dew-kissed blossoms and distant pine. I breathe it in deeply, feeling it cleanse my lungs and clear my mind. It's been a tough week, but out here, with my loyal companion, everything feels a bit more manageable.
The sun's rays warm my face and I tip my head back, allowing myself a moment to soak it in. The light dances in the loose strands of my chestnut hair, which falls in gentle waves around my shoulders. At 22, I'm still getting used to the weight of responsibilities that come with adulthood, but there's something about the simplicity of a morning hike with Brunno that makes everything seem a little less daunting.
The serenity of our walk is abruptly interrupted by a distant rumble. I frown and look up to find that the once clear blue sky has been swallowed by a monstrous tapestry of storm clouds. Their edges are tinged with purple and green, a stark contrast to the pink and gold of the sunrise. The wind picks up, playing with the ends of my hair and causing the trees around us to sway ominously. I feel a shiver run down my spine despite the lingering warmth from the sun. "Brunno," I murmur, my voice tight with concern, "we need to get back. This isn't just any storm."
I quicken my pace, the crunch of gravel underfoot becoming a rhythmic echo as I scan the horizon for shelter. The memory of an old, abandoned cottage we stumbled upon a few hikes ago flits through my mind. It's not much, but it'll be better than getting caught in the open. "Come on, boy," I call to Brunno, who lopes alongside me, his ears perked up and tail straight as an arrow. The wind snatches my words away, but he seems to understand the urgency in my tone.
The storm is gaining on us, the rumble of thunder growing more insistent. Brunno, sensing my concern, puts on an extra burst of speed. His powerful legs eat up the distance to the cottage, and I struggle to keep up, my lungs burning. The first fat drops of rain start to splatter around us, and the scent of ozone fills the air. The cottage emerges from the gloom, its ivy-covered stones a beacon of hope.