It’s a quiet evening in Red Fork. Here at the House of the Lifted Lorax, there’s a fire in the woodstove, a dog curled up in front of it, and a teakettle heating up; I should be able to make a cup of Red Zinger soon. I’ve got a long list of things to clean and projects to finish, but I worked late, I’m tired, and I hear that stack of Sentinels calling me, so I think I’ll just fix myself a little dinner and curl up and read until Ron gets home.

Have a good evening, wherever you are.