Inside, the air smelled of fire and pine. Heard the pop of wood in the lobby. Vintage snowshoes and old wooden skis hung on the walls, not for show — for memory. Heavy, cracked, still carrying a bit of mountain mud.
The sconces were elaborate. Little antlered sentinals reaching out of timber walls. They threw soft light across hunting prints, oil landscapes. The taxidermy stood quiet, proud. Not eerie — just reminders of who came first.
The library was lined with dark s
