Up Through the Pines

They set off on Sunday morning with full backpacks and a hand-drawn map that Grandpa Ren had made himself, with notes in the margins in his small careful handwriting.

The first part of the walk was through the pine forest below the ridge. The path was wide and well-marked and not too steep, and for the first hour they walked without talking much. The forest was beautiful enough to look at and that gave them something to do besides try to talk to each other.

The pines were very tall here, their trunks straight and reddish-brown, their branches starting high up and letting through long shafts of yellow morning light. The ground was soft with fallen needles. Squirrels watched them from high branches and then vanished. A woodpecker hammered somewhere out of sight, the sound echoing between the trees.

Felix walked ahead. He was a fast walker and always had been, even as a small child. He walked like he was trying to get somewhere rather than like he was going for a walk. Nora had learned years ago not to try to keep up but just to let him go and trust that he would slow down eventually.

He slowed down when they reached the first viewpoint, a flat rocky ledge where the trees thinned and you could see the valley below and the village, tiny now, its rooftops catching the morning light.

Nora stopped beside him.

Grandpa\'s house is the one with the blue door, Felix said. You can see it from here.

Nora looked. He was right. A small square of blue, just visible at the edge of the village. She thought about Grandpa Ren sitting in his garden with his blanket and his bright eyes and she felt something press on her chest that was not quite sadness but was close to it.

He used to run this path, Felix said. He told me once. When he was young he used to run up to the ridge and back before breakfast.

I know, Nora said.

They stood there for a moment looking at the blue door far below.

Felix said: I did not mean what I said. About not wanting to see him sick.

Nora did not say anything right away. She had learned, over thirteen years of being Felix\'s sister, that the moments when he said something real needed a bit of room around them.

I know you did not, she said eventually.

I was just scared, he said. He said it to the valley, not to her, which was fine.

Me too, she said.

That was all. They did not hug or make a big thing of it. Felix just turned and started walking again up the path toward the ridge. Nora followed. But the space between them felt different now. A little smaller.

The ridge took another two hours to reach. By the time they got there the forest had thinned to scattered wind-bent trees and then to open rocky ground, and the sky above was enormous and pale blue. The wind up here was strong and cold and smelled of nothing except stone and height.

They sat on the ridge and ate their lunch looking out over the other side, the north face, which was steeper and darker, the valley below still in shadow. Somewhere down there were the caves.

Grandpa Ren\'s notes said: The ridge is the hardest part of the climb but the caves are the part that stays with you. Take your time in there. It is worth it.

Felix read that bit out loud and then folded the map carefully and put it back in his pocket.

Right then, he said, standing up and brushing crumbs off his jacket. Caves.