Wynn rubbed her sore hip as she shuffled into the kitchen. Winter cold had set into the cottage and the hearth fire needed to be lit. Clutching her shawl around her nightdress a little tighter, she kneeled in front of the hearth to set in new logs for the fire.

She winced as her hip screamed in pain. She was sure the bruise would be deep black and blue by the end of the morning if she didn't treat it soon.

With a whoosh, she deftly lit the fire, throwing in the matchstick to burn with the rest of the firewood. Gingerly standing, she shuffled again over to her recipe box for her pain remedies.

The nightmare had left her unnerved both in body and mind. When she fell off Falk's broom in her dream, she in reality simply fell out of bed and ended up on the floor, leaving her no worse for wear other than a banged up hip.

Pain, she could deal with. It was the uncertainty in the meaning of the dream. She usually could source out meanings with little to no difficulty. This time, it was all a jumble of images and the only constant was Falkland intent on the cloud ahead of them.

She furrowed her brow as she read the list of need ingredients to treat her bruise. Good, she had them all in the pantry.

Reaching for the pantry door, she stepped inside to find Falkland standing up against the back shelves, a strange grin on his face.

"Good morning, Wynnie," he said, cheerfully.