As night fell, Murphy returned to his familiar quarters next to the main stable.
The moment he pushed open the wooden door, the familiar scent of hay and leather washed over him.
He skillfully lit the fire pit in the corner. The orange-red glow quickly drove away the winter night's chill, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.
It was much warmer here than in the lodgings at the public stables. The thick stone walls blocked the howling wind, and the charcoal burning in the pit gave off a slightly acrid, smoky smell, yet it filled the small space with warmth.
Just as the charcoal fire began to burn brighter, familiar footsteps sounded outside the door.
Bart and Hank arrived, bundled in thick, old coats and carrying a small cloth bag.
Bart rubbed his hands together and sat by the fire pit, pulling a few baked potatoes from the bag. "Knew you'd have a fire going. Here, they're still hot."
