It had been a misty sunrise. The light rode soft atop the milky white outside.
He thought it was an omen and that she ought to stay in. “You won’t see where you’re going,” he fretted.
She told him the mist would clear. She could read it in the air. She could smell it in the tang of pine. She readied her day-bag and rushed through her chores.
Still he fussed. “What if not?”
She understood. She also knew he hadn’t grown up in these mountains. His roots did not go deep into this land, while her family traced their ancestry to the Ligures. Her people lived in these environs even before the Celts had arrived.
He feared what she did not.
In more ways than one, she realized.
It was another reason that she needed to take a long walk. Exactly so she could see where she was going.