An elderly woman spent the whole summer and autumn fixing sharp wooden stakes across her roof. Neighbors were convinced she’d lost her sanity… until winter finally arrived.

And on the windiest nights, when the gales come screaming down from the North Ridge, the villagers don’t hide in their cellars. They sit in their warm kitchens, listening to the low, humming song of the roofs—the sound of a widow and a widower, still protecting the town that had once called them mad.