By late afternoon, those mountains still didn"t look any closer, but we were definitely in taller hills than before. I almost wanted to call them foothills. They certainly felt like they were building up to something, each hill taller than the one before.
And finally, it stopped raining. The clouds began to break apart, and the birds in the trees started singing again.
The sun was low in the west when we finally left the forest behind. The road continued on, snaking between two steep hills that were all broken rock and scrubby grass. We followed it with the wagon as it snaked again the other way, winding between ever steeper hills.
It was almost like we were in a canyon now. I could probably climb the hills around us, but I wouldn"t want to try it if I didn"t have to. They were so steep
