The late winter snow seemed to have exhausted its last strength, and Gray Stone Town welcomed an unusually sunny but bone-chilling morning. The sunlight streamed through the dusty window lattice, casting a dazzling patch of light on the floor beside Lynch's bed.
Kuma had a premonition of something amiss when he discovered that Lynch had not gotten up early to make a fire as usual. After all, Lynch had been leaving the house less frequently over this time.
He pushed open the door of the small cottage and saw the old woman lying quietly on the old wooden bed by the window, covered by a thin blanket washed to near whiteness and filled with patches.
Her breathing was so faint it was almost imperceptible, her cheeks sunken deeply, and her skin took on a semi-transparent waxy yellow, as if the luster of life was slowly flowing away from this aged body.
"Aunt?" Kuma's voice carried a tremor even he had not noticed.
