Thirty Eight

The light from a fire jerked and writhed against the heavy stone walls that surrounded the small space. The smooth rock face went up some ten feet before curving inwards to create a ceiling that was painted inky black by the shadows.

The naturally formed den was big enough for a small family to congregate. Mats and piles of furs were bundled tidily in one corner while primitive cushions littered the floor strategically. Treated hides had been stitched and then hung over the several exits that stopped this place from being a tomb to being a safe space.

A home.

The air was warm thanks to the fire in the middle of the room and the smoke lazily floated upwards into the only void of shadows. The scent of herbs and dried flowers fragranced the air, adding to the warmth until it felt like a thick blanket was wrapping around everything. The shadows pooled wherever the light of the fire couldn't get. They bubbled and boiled high above like a canopy of stormy seas. The life force in them puls