Sonder waited a little longer, listening.
Only the wind answered her, rushing past the cliff's edge, and beneath it, the quiet, steady crackle of the fire within.
She lowered her hand.
"If someone is here," she said softly, more to the hut than to any unseen listener, "would you please open the door?"
There was no reply.
She waited just a bit longer until it was polite to do something else or call again.
What should she do?
She knocked once again, but this time, after a brief pause, she reached for the door and decided to push.
It opened easily, without a creak.
A thick warmth spilled out to meet her, brushing against her face and hands, carrying the faint scent of smoke.
She stepped inside.
The hut was small, but not cramped. A single room, carefully arranged. The hearth sat against the far wall, stone-blackened with soot. Its fire low and steady. A kettle hung above it, dark with age. Beside the hearth lay a neatly stacked pile of firewood, dry and cut to even lengths.
There was a table in the center, scarred by years of use, with just a single chair, pulled back slightly, as though someone had risen from it not long ago.
There was a single shut window.
And a few shelves that didn't hold anything out of the ordinary. A few jars, folded cloth, and a few well-worn books. Nothing excessive.
Well lived in, Sonder thought.
But still empty.
The featherling drifted in after her, hesitating at the threshold before floating closer to the ceiling, where it hovered in the warmth near the fire. It seemed to calm her, and her movements were slower but more fluid.
Sonder closed the door behind her, shutting out the wind. The silence inside was deep.
She took a slow turn, letting her eyes move over everything again.
Nothing really stood out. And yet the blue thread was here, but it seemed to stop in the middle of the hut.
It did not point to the hearth, nor the table, nor the shelves; it was just cut off.
Sonder frowned slightly. Dico magic couldn't have just led her to a dead end, could it?
There had to be something to find.
And if no one would answer her, then searching felt less like trespassing, though the idea was still uneasy in her mind.
"I'm sorry," she murmured to the empty space of the hut, unsure who the apology was meant for.