With the storm still raging outside, there is no way to leave the house, even for something simple like checking the orchards.
A fire is lit in the hearth to provide warmth and light against the damp chill seeping in through the stonework and windows. It burns merrily and crackles, casting dancing shadows across the wooden planks of the walls. It smells pleasantly of cedar wood smoke.
There's an old rug under the furniture that looks threadbare from use, yet well maintained despite its age. Given there's no shortage of excess and...opulence?
No.
Nothing that grand.
But...Lucas is not a man who is shy at all about purchasing new things, and throwing his coin around anywhere he can reach. And so, the threadbare rug...to still have it proudly on display, not yet replaced, I wonder if it has some meaning to him.
The floor creaks slightly when walked over.
