The soft rustling of tree branches brushing against the stone walls was the only sound in the small, dimly lit room. The air smelled faintly of crushed herbs and the faintest trace of lavender soothing, meant to calm. But Arin was beyond calm.
She lay on the low cot, one arm draped protectively over her abdomen, eyes fixed on the wooden beams above her head. Her body still ached, her ribs bruised from the beating, her soul even more fractured than before.
A gentle knock came at the door, followed by a soft creak as it opened. Arin tensed instinctively, then relaxed only slightly when the figure who entered wasn't a threat.
"Good evening," came a lilting voice, warm and soft like sun filtering through tree branches.
