Nila began the next morning with a stroll.

She had spent the early hours wandering the outer paths of the plateau alone, a freedom she still found intoxicating. She wore her comfortable shearling boots and a simple cream-colored wool vest over her charcoal tunic. The crisp mountain air felt wonderful against her face, and her new, heightened senses picked up the world in a beautiful, disorganized symphony: the sharp scent of damp earth, the distant thud of wood being chopped near the lower barns, and the sweet, rich aroma of baking bread from the kitchens.

Her peaceful stride slowed, as her path looped past the lower timber lodge. The lodge...