The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, painting soft gold across the wooden floor. The fire in the stove had long gone cold, but the air inside the cottage was still warm, still holding the peace of the night.
Elena stirred, blinking against the soft brightness. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was — only that she wasn't in that town anymore. Then the faint smell of pine and the quiet hum of the countryside brought her back.
She sat up slowly. The little wooden horse lay beside her where she'd fallen asleep under the window. She smiled faintly, brushed the dust from its back, and set it on the small table.
After washing her face with cool water from the basin and combing her hair, she stepped outside. The air was crisp and alive — dew still clung to the grass, and tiny droplets glittered on the flower bush by her door.
The village still slept. Only the distant call of a rooster broke the stillness. The road stretched ahead, lined with uneven stones and faint tracks from carts.
Elena began to walk, her shoes crunching softly against the earth.
Each step felt lighter. The weight that had followed her for so long seemed to lift just a little. She passed a small wooden fence, a well, and a field still covered in morning mist. In the distance, she could see roofs — a handful of cottages clustered together, smoke rising from one or two chimneys.
A dog barked once and then quieted, as if acknowledging her arrival.
Elena paused near a small bridge over a narrow stream. She watched the water trickle below, the sound soft and constant. It felt like a heartbeat — the pulse of a place that had not yet judged her, not yet asked anything of her.
For the first time in a long while, she felt something close to belonging.
She took a deep breath, then turned back toward her little cottage, thinking she might light a fire and make tea before exploring further.
For now, this morning — this peace — was hers.
The morning sun had fully risen now, soft and golden over the rooftops. Elena followed the narrow path that wound between the cottages, the stones beneath her feet still damp with dew. The village was waking — shutters opening, smoke curling lazily from chimneys, and voices drifting lightly through the air.
A woman sweeping her doorstep looked up and smiled. "Good morning," she called in a warm, lilting voice.
Elena hesitated for a moment before nodding back, returning the greeting softly.
As she walked further, a man carrying a basket of loaves crossed her path. The scent of fresh bread followed him, rich and comforting. He stopped when he saw her, his face brightening.
"You must be the new teacher," he said kindly. "Coren told us you'd arrived."
Elena blinked, surprised. "Yes… I just came yesterday."
"Then you'll need a proper welcome," he said with a cheerful laugh. He reached into his basket and handed her a still-warm loaf, wrapped in thin cloth. "Take this. My wife runs the bakery just up that road. You come by when you can — we'll always have something fresh for you."
Elena took the bread carefully, the warmth of it seeping into her hands. "Thank you," she said quietly.
He nodded once, then waved as he continued down the path, calling morning greetings to others along the way.
She stood for a moment, holding the loaf close, feeling its heat through the cloth. Around her, the air smelled of earth and flour, pine and smoke. People nodded as they passed, smiles unforced, their eyes soft with simple kindness.
Elena felt something stir inside — a small, hesitant warmth that spread through her chest. The difference was almost painful to notice. No heavy smoke, no shouting streets, no cold stares. Just clear air and the easy rhythm of a place that seemed untouched by sorrow.
She walked further, her steps light, the bread cradled in her arm like a small treasure. Children's laughter echoed somewhere in the distance — and for the first time in years, the sound didn't ache. It simply filled her heart.
The sound of laughter drew her onward. It came from beyond a cluster of cottages, where the road widened into a small square. At its edge stood an old stone building, weathered but still proud, with ivy creeping along its sides. The door was half open, and through it, she could hear voices — young, bright, and full of life.
Curious, Elena stepped closer.
Inside, a handful of children sat at rough wooden desks, their eyes fixed on an elderly man standing near a chalkboard. His robe hung loosely from his thin frame, and his hands trembled slightly as he wrote a crooked line of numbers.
When he noticed her at the door, he paused, blinking through his spectacles. Then a faint smile curved his lips.
"Ah," he said softly, setting the chalk down. "You must be the teacher Coren spoke of."
Elena nodded, uncertain whether to step inside. "Yes… I arrived yesterday. I hope I'm not intruding."
"Not at all, my dear." His voice was gentle, frayed by age but kind. "You've come at just the right time. I was beginning to think these old hands would soon fail the little ones completely."
The children turned to look at her — curious faces, some shy, some bold. A little girl with freckles whispered something to the boy beside her, who grinned. Elena's heart softened at the sight.
The priest gestured toward the desks. "We've only a few books, and the chalk's worn to dust, but they're eager to learn. That's what matters."
Elena stepped inside then, feeling the smoothness of the worn floor beneath her shoes. Dust motes danced in the light streaming through the small windows.
"It's enough," she said quietly. "I'll do my best."
"I know you will." The priest smiled again, his eyes bright despite the years. "You have the look of someone who has seen much and still chooses to give. That is the heart of a teacher."
Elena looked at the children again, at their bright eyes waiting for direction. Something deep inside her stirred — a memory of another time, another classroom, laughter that once belonged to her own children.
She swallowed, steadying her voice. "Then… perhaps we can begin tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," he agreed, nodding. "I'll have the key ready."
As she stepped back into the sunlight, the warmth touched her face. She held the loaf of bread closer, her heart lighter than it had been in years.
Maybe — just maybe — this place could be her beginning after all.