This cover is called Lavender Lake, but there’s no lavender and no lake—just a tragically overworked tree stump, a suspiciously pristine backpack, and what appears to be an oil lantern cosplaying as a centerpiece from a Cracker Barrel clearance bin.
Welcome to the Saddles & Spurs universe, where rustic vibes go to die in watercolor confusion. The central image is a stump shrine of lost logic, showcasing boots, a lantern, a single flower, and a backpack—none of which obey the laws of lighting, shadow, or spatial awareness. They look like they were each cut from a separate “how to draw objects badly” workbook and stuck on top with clipart glue and blind optimism.
Then there’s the fox. Is it a mascot? A metaphor? An afterthought? He stares into the distance like he, too, just realized he’s part of a watercolor hostage situation with no narrative escape route. We get it, little guy. We’re trapped here too.
Now let’s talk typography, because “Lavender Lake” has never looked so aggressively default. The main title font is bold but lifeless, with no styling, texture, or character—just green text hovering in awkward silence. The subtitle “Saddles & Spurs Book 2” limps in underneath like a footnote on a tax form, while the author credit screams “I figured out how to center text!”
And that background? A foggy fade of generic trees so washed out they look like they’ve been run through a discount lavender-scented Photoshop action. This is not atmospheric—it’s a crime scene where depth, composition, and cohesion were the victims.
Despite what the delicate watercolor attempt suggests, this isn’t gentle or rustic. It’s pastel chaos, served stump-side, with a lantern that lights nothing and boots that may or may not be cursed.
Final diagnosis: This cover isn’t cozy—it’s compost. Pull the fox, burn the stump, and start over with a map, a mood board, and a designer who knows what layering is.