Beneath the Mist

Chapter 1

Deep in rural Scotland, nestled among rolling green hills, there lies a small village called Glenhaven.

Glenhaven is full of stone cottages with thatched roofs that lean against one another. A small river flows past the village, catching the morning light while birds flit between the trees.

Among those stone cottages was Freya, making her way up the cobbled main street with her bag over her shoulder. The wind picked up Freya's ginger hair, messing it up even more. Uphill lies her grandparents' farmhouse, a small white wooden house with a big red barn and massive green fields dotted with grazing sheep.

In the distance, Freya could make out her grandmother, who was standing among the sheep. A short but not fragile old woman with long grey hair, greyish eyes and the kindest smile a person could have. Freya's grandmother immediately dropped the bucket she was holding when she spotted Freya.

Freya ran up the hill and straight to her grandmother, who welcomed her with open arms. Her grandmother, Wilma, wrapped her arms tightly around Freya, holding her against her while kissing her temple. "Oh, Freya, my dear. You have no idea how much we have missed you," murmured Wilma against her hair.

Freya smiled at her words, burying her face deeper into her grandmother's cardigan, getting hit with that comforting smell of home. "I know, but I'm here now, am I not?" she replied, looking up at her grandmother.

Wilma leaned back and brushed a red strand of hair out of Freya's face with a smile, "As much as I want to keep standing here with you, I should not keep you any longer from your grandfather. Cuthbert hasn't stopped talking about your arrival since we found out you're coming."

With Wilma's arm still around Freya, they both turned towards the farmhouse and walked up the short path leading to it.

The inside of the farmhouse wasn't fancy. It was well lived in, but it was cozy, it was home. Like most homes, it had its own unique charm: light brown wooden floors that creaked if you stepped on the right spots and walls filled with framed photos of past generations. It was a simple home, yet it still felt comforting and was filled with so much love.

On the windowsill next to the front door lay the farm cat, Tina. A small, green-eyed, orange and white cat with spiderwebs in her whiskers from exploring. Tina lifted her head when she heard footsteps approaching, but didn't bother greeting them and just enjoyed the sun instead.

Leaving Tina to herself, Freya kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket up while Wilma took her bag from her and laid it down on the staircase.

Wilma walked down the hallway into the kitchen where Cuthbert was laying out the cutlery for lunch. "Guess who's here," said Wilma excitedly. Cuthbert lifted his head and looked out into the hallway where Freya stood. "Freya!" Cuthbert almost yelled, dropping the cutlery on the table as he hurried over to Freya, pulling her into his embrace.

Freya wrapped her arms around his torso, "Missed you too," she mumbled into his shirt. Cuthbert took a step back to look at his granddaughter properly. "Look at you, almost a whole lady, aye? You used to be smaller than a lamb," he said, giving her shoulders a small squeeze.

Wilma chuckled, joining them in the hallway. "Taking more after your mother every year. It's almost as if you only inherited her DNA," she joked. Freya smiled at both of them as she replied: "You guys say this every time I'm here." "It's the truth," Cuthbert argued. "Now come sit down, honey. You must be hungry from your journey here," he added.

At the kitchen table, Freya sat down while Wilma took the Rumbledethumps out of the oven and put them onto the kitchen countertop so they could cool down a bit. "I made those extra for you today, you used to ask for them every day when you were a little kid," she told Freya. "You didn't have to, thank you, Grandma. But don't worry, they're still my favourite," Freya replied.