Lodge Carriageway

A narrow graveled path running in front of the Lodge, ill-suited for vehicles and better suited for the boot heels of determined men. The carriageway is flanked by patches of frost-bitten grass and skeletal trees, their bare branches scraping at the iron-gray sky. The ground holds the memory of footsteps—Clements' boots pressing hard into the gravel as he tracks the procession, each crunch deliberate and controlled. The dim light from the Lodge's windows cuts across the path in long rectangles, marking the boundary between safety and the cold open ground where the mummy's procession moves. The air carries the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth, heavy with the weight of impending violence.