A contribution by Foolhardy4

Autumn harvest is in and the rains have come. The kettle bubbles where it hangs above the fire beside you. Logs pop and shift as they burn and drive out the damp and cold. You settle comfortably as smoke twists up the chimney and scents the air. The thatch roof will need repair before winter comes, you can hear rain drip into a carefully placed bucket. Time for repairs another day. Today there is wool to spin. The fibres turn into yarn under patient hands, the rhythmic shush and clack of the spinning wheel familiar in your ears. You have warm drink in reach and a book borrowed from the fief library. The rain will pass. But for now it cocoons your cottage around you.

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