Chapter 7The air tasted brisk and cool and bracing. Mountains loomed up and peered down curiously, large and old and rock-strewn. The sky arched above, pearlescent, hung with unfallen rain. The road was dry and well-worn and wider than Lorre remembered; he considered a neatly-lettered signpost for a moment. The last time he’d been here there’d been only one destination, and no need for signs.
Gareth’s shoulders relaxed, straightened, shifted. He breathed in the clean rain-sweet taste of his home, breathed out, gazed up at snow-capped stone and lower greener hills and rolling Northern land. Somewhere nearby a stream was singing, a rush of fresh water tumbling and skipping on its way down to the lowlands.
He also said, “That’s fantastic, you know.” His hand remained in Lorre’s: seconds ago
