And Auden stood at the edge of the woods, unable to take a single step closer. It’s really here. It wasn’t a quaint name, chosen on a whim. It wasn’t, as he’d once heard his grandfather say, a corruption of a Latin word referencing the thick forest canopy around the house. There was a chapel. It was covered in thorns. Thornchapel. And he had the strangest feeling that as he thought the name of this place, the place thought his own name back to him…
