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[color=808080][color=A64017][b]#A64017[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/08/c5/81/08c5812e7525839b642b2638f0002cfd.jpg][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [b]cabin 28[/b][/color]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]Colton’s cabin greeted him with a quiet warmth when he returned, the kind of stillness that only lived in places untouched for most of the day. The wooden steps creaked under his feet as he climbed inside, and the first thing he did was peel off the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his back. Training had left dust in his hair, grit on his skin, and a dull ache in his shoulders that promised tomorrow would remind him exactly how many muscles he had used. The shower came quick and hot, steam curling toward the ceiling while he scrubbed away the day’s sweat and the fine layer of sand that seemed to want to live on his skin. By the time he stepped out and toweled off, he felt more like himself again. 

He dressed slowly afterward, pulling on worn blue jeans that hung comfortably on his hips and a soft grey tee that settled easily against his chest. Over it he shrugged into a faded green jacket, the fabric thick and weathered in that way clothes became after years of use, the chest pocket zipped neatly shut beneath the small square patch stitched into the canvas. It smelled faintly of cedar and cold air, like it had been made for long mornings and late evenings outdoors. The outfit was simple, practical, something a man could work in, sit in, or relax in without thinking twice about it. The jacket helped to starve off the chill that had crept into the cabin whilst he was away at training. Comfortable enough to feel like home, even in a place that still felt strange around the edges.

For a while he unpacked. Not much, just the handful of belongings he’d brought along. Folded clothes placed in drawers, a pocketknife on the small wooden table, a photograph tucked carefully beside the bed where the fading light could catch it. The cabin wasn’t large, but it had a good feeling to it, solid, warm, the kind of place that didn’t rush you out the door. When he finally headed downstairs to take stock of the kitchen, he expected to see the same sparse shelves he’d glanced at earlier that morning.
Instead, the fridge stopped him cold.

Colton stood in front of it, staring at the contents like the shelves might rearrange themselves if he blinked too hard. Earlier there had been nothing but a few lonely bottles of water. Now the interior was filled top to bottom with food, containers of fresh fruit, eggs stacked neatly in a carton, vegetables still flecked with soil like they’d been pulled straight from a garden. Cuts of meat wrapped in parchment paper rested beside wedges of cheese and bundles of herbs tied together with twine. None of it looked like it had come from a store. It looked like the kind of groceries someone gathered from neighbors in a small farming town, one family bringing eggs, another fresh milk, another trading cuts from a butchered steer. Colton scratched the back of his neck and shut the fridge halfway before opening it again just to make sure it hadn’t disappeared.

[color=A64017]“Magic camp,”[/color] he muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. Still, food was food.

He pulled out everything he needed for a homemade pie crust and set it on the counter. Flour, butter, a pinch of salt, and a small bowl of cold water. The butter he cut into cubes before working it slowly through the flour with his fingers, pressing and rubbing until the mixture crumbled like coarse sand. A splash of water followed, just enough to pull the dough together beneath his palms as he kneaded it lightly before flattening it into a thick disk. The dough went to rest while he worked on the filling.

Carrots came first, chopped into small orange coins, followed by celery and onion that hit the cutting board with soft rhythmic thuds. A potato he peeled and diced into neat cubes before adding everything to a pot where chicken browned gently in butter. The smell filled the cabin quickly, savory and comforting, onions softening in the heat while herbs and pepper coated the chicken. He stirred slowly, letting the vegetables cook down before adding broth and letting it thicken into something rich and hearty. By the time the crust was rolled out and draped into a dish, the filling was ready, steaming as he spooned it inside before sealing it with the second layer of dough and cutting small vents across the top.

The pie slid into the oven, and warmth began to spread through the cabin. Colton leaned against the counter for a moment, arms folded loosely, watching the fire flicker in the iron fireplace across the room. Blair’s voice drifted back to him then, the mention of stables and horses, and he smiled to himself before pushing away from the counter. The rest of the cabin could wait until morning.

He pulled on his boots again  and fed two more thick logs into the fireplace so the heat would hold while he was gone. Sparks cracked softly as the flames caught, filling the room with a low golden glow. Then he stepped outside into the cooling evening air, headed toward the stables.
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