Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Raven’s Hollow
The night was merciless. Fog rolled in from the river, blanketing the forest floor in a thick, spectral shroud.
With no fire and no dry clothes, Eleanor knew they would not survive until dawn if they stayed by the water. Using a sturdy fallen tree branch as a crutch, she hauled Martha to her feet, supporting most of the older woman's weight against her shoulder. Every step was an agonizing struggle, her swollen stomach heavy and tight, but Eleanor gritted her teeth and pushed forward into the dark woods.
After an hour of aimless crawling through the thick underbrush, they stumbled upon an old, abandoned stone cabin tucked away in a hidden clearing—a long-forgotten coal miner's shelter known to locals as Raven’s Hollow.
The wooden door hung loosely on its rusted iron hinges. Eleanor kicked it open, dragging Martha inside out of the biting wind. The cabin was dry, smelling heavily of damp earth and old pine rosin, but it offered shelter.
In the corner sat a pile of dry kindling left behind by long-gone travelers, along with an old iron pot and a rusted flint striker resting on a stone shelf. Eleanor’s hands worked frantically, her fingers numb as she struck the flint against the iron until a tiny spark caught the dry leaves, blossoming into a small, flickering flame.
She tended to Martha first, wrapping the shivering woman in an old horse blanket found hanging in the corner. Eleanor then peeled off her own dripping gown, wrapping herself in a rough wool sack. She collapsed beside the hearth, her mind racing.
Up at Sterling Manor, Daniel and Genevieve were undoubtedly celebrating. They would put on black mourning clothes, shed fake tears for the townspeople, and claim that a tragic runaway carriage had claimed the life of the young Lord’s pregnant wife. They would inherit the lands, build their wealth, and live without fear of retribution.
"Let them celebrate," Eleanor whispered into the flames, her knuckles turning white as she clutched her swollen stomach. "Let them believe I am dust."
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Suddenly, a sharp, tightening contraction seized her lower back, catching her breath. She gasped, dropping to her hands and knees.
The shock and physical trauma of the fall had triggered early labor.
