A Shadow Falls

The air in Pappa’s cottage, usually thick with the comforting scent of woodsmoke and drying herbs, now held a subtle, unsettling chill. Werner, perched on the worn rug by the hearth, felt it prickle his skin, a sensation entirely alien to the warmth that usually permeated their shared space. Outside, the sun still cast a dappled light through the leaves, but the vibrant greens seemed muted, the sunlight struggling to penetrate a haze that wasn’t quite mist.

He looked up as Pappa entered, his usual easy stride replaced by a more measured, almost hesitant gait. Pappa’s brow was furrowed, a line etched deeper than Werner had ever seen, and his eyes, normally so bright and full of quiet amusement, held a shadow of worry that mirrored the one Werner was beginning to sense in the woods.

“Pappa?” Werner’s voice was small, barely disturbing the quiet. “Are the trees… sad today?”