“I think about it sometimes. How peaceful it was.”
“You’re different here,” Veronica said after a moment.
Kathleen looked over, brow drawn. “Different how?”
Veronica’s gaze didn’t waver. “Not so…reserved.”
Kathleen flushed but didn’t look away. “I know. I don’t always understand people. Or their expectations. But I understand trees and light. This makes sense to me.”
They kept walking, the path going down gently, curving through thick ferns and low-growing wildflowers. A flash of movement caught her eye and Kathleen stopped, holding a hand out to halt Veronica.
“There,” she whispered.
Ahead, a red fox moved through the brush, unaware of them. Its coat was pale with dust, but its body was sleek and elegant. It moved like smoke—soundless and utterly comfortable with its place in this world. Kathleen watched with quiet reverence. After a few seconds, it disappeared into the trees.
Veronica exhaled. “I’ve never seen one that close before.”
“They’re shy,” Kathleen said. “And clever.”
She was tempted to add it was like herself—made of nerves and silence and instinct—but Veronica already knew that.
They wandered off the trail and followed the sound of water until they reached a narrow stream cutting through a sun-dappled glade. The water shimmered clear over stones, and Kathleen stepped out of her boots to wade in, laughing softly at the shock of cold.
She called out delightedly, “Come on in. It’s exhilarating.”
Veronica raised a brow. “You want me to freeze?”
“Yes. Shared suffering builds trust.”
Veronica gave a small smile and pulled off her sneakers. She rolled up her pants to the knees and joined her. “Christ, it’s frigging cold,” she yelped.
“It’s refreshing.”
“No,” Veronica said. “It’s freezing. I’m getting out.”
They dried their feet in the grass and lay back on a bed of moss, watching the canopy above shift gently in the wind. Birds called in the distance, and a dragonfly hovered near Kathleen’s hand.
She pointed. “Did you know their wings beat independently? That’s how they can hover like that.”
Veronica rolled onto her side to look at her. “It’s like you have a private line to nature’s secrets.”
“It’s merely observation,” Kathleen murmured, blushing.
They ate lunch on a flat rock warmed by the sun, unwrapping sandwiches and apples from their packs. Veronica sprawled onher back afterward, eyes closed, while Kathleen rested on one elbow and quietly pointed out birds as they passed overhead.
“That one’s a swallow. A Hirundo rustica. They migrate over ten thousand kilometres every year. And that’s—” she nodded upward, “—a red-shouldered hawk. I love how they float on thermals. They barely flap at all.”
Veronica opened one eye. “You know the name of every leaf and bird. It’s kind of intimidating.”
Kathleen laughed quietly. “It’s... patterns. I see them easily.”
Veronica sat up and took her hand. “I like the way you see things.”
Kathleen didn’t answer right away. The breeze shifted her hair, and for a long moment she watched the leaves ripple above them. “I think I’m in love with you,” she said suddenly.
Veronica stilled. “You think?”
Kathleen swallowed. “I don’t always know what I’m feeling until it’s quiet. But I feel calm with you. And excited. And… steady. It’s like being tuned to the right frequency.”
