- Ronan Hale:
The moment I stepped inside the house, the scent of home wrapped around me. Woodsmoke, fresh-baked bread, the faint herbal scent of my mother's teas—nothing had changed. For a moment, it was like I'd never left like I hadn't been gone for over a month with no word.
Then the sound of hurried footsteps against wooden floors pulled me back to the present.
"Ronan?"
My mother appeared from the kitchen, her brown eyes widening as she took me in. A second later, she rushed forward, arms wrapping tightly around me. Her warmth was something I hadn't realized I'd missed until now, the way she clung to me for a moment too long, as if making sure I was real.
"Oh, my boy, where have you been? You didn't send word, you didn't—" She pulled back slightly, hands gripping my arms as she scanned me for any sign of injury. "Are you hurt? Have you been eating? You look tired."
"I'm fine, mon," I said, offering a small, tired smile.
"Hmph," came a gruff voice from the side.
