Edmond Nerval panted heavily as he trudged along the path that rose from his cabin and through the forest to where the Dumas lands started. The breath he exhaled turned to a frozen white mist, indicating how cold the early morning was. He had reprimanded Jamette before he set out.
“Edmond, put on your cloak, you’ll need it today.”
“No, it will be warmer when the sun rises.”
But he was glad she had insisted, pulling it tighter to his body. The narrow path was often blocked by an undergrowth of brambles and ferns — few people used it or even knew of its existence. Very fine twinkling gossamer threads floated in the air, mysteriously joining the tree branches on either side to form deadly webs, effortlessly ensnaring unsuspecting insects until hungry spiders arrived to satisfy their appeti
