In the hot days, the roofs were blindingly bright. But inside, the dark wood floors were smooth and cool like marble. A soft breeze would tussle my hair while I sat by the huge window in the attic. Fire burned all through out the day and all through out the night. Its smell inescapable. Smoke crooned through the layers and layers of thatched roof that were changed every fall, slowly roasting, darkening, strengthening it like the fire does its hearth.