It’s modest. The walls are made of gray cobblestones. Hibernating vines cling to the sides of the exterior, framing the old scuffed up windows. The roof is made with two-feet-thick hay slabs and a small stone chimney juts out on the left side. Kalel dismounts and plucks me from the saddle without a word. I keep my eyes lowered as he opens the cottage and steps inside.
