Cottage Driveway

The narrow driveway curves tightly around the cottage's weathered stone façade, a tight ribbon of gravel and packed earth that leads to where the Daimler’s bulk looms just beyond the front gate. Rain from earlier has left the ground damp, turning the surface to slick mud that clings to boots with each hurried step. Overhead, the skeletal branches of an old oak tree scrape against the sky, their skeletal limbs casting shifting shadows that seem to twist in time with the group’s panic. The air smells of damp earth and crushed herbs—remnants from the cottage’s herb garden—mingling with the sharp tang of engine oil from the Daimler’s idling motor. This is where escape must begin, where boots dig into the unstable ground and every second counts as the Krynoid’s shadow stretches closer.