Warden's Lodge Exterior

The narrow gravel path outside the lodge’s weathered wooden porch carries the crunch of boots in the damp loam, its planks pale from years of rain and salt air. Oak and pine roots push through the soil near the porch swing, which creaks in the evening breeze carrying woodsmoke and the damp earth smell of the nearby lake. A single oil lamp beside the door casts long shadows across an overgrown garden where foxgloves sway beneath bare branches, its flicker revealing scuff marks in the dirt where Arthur’s boots have recently disturbed the stillness. The silence here is relative—the creak of the swing, the distant hum of a rusted generator from the equipment shed, and the occasional cry of a heron from the shallows punctuate the quiet. Mrs. Ollis steps into this stillness, her voice sharp with alarm cutting through the woodsmoke-scented air as she confronts Arthur about his unexplained absence.