Day 3 - Scene 5 - Part 3

The hill was enormous. It'd take him the rest of the week to get up there, at least. He did see the tree at the top though; a small bush in the distance. Bolvar waited next to him, also not seeming too eager to start the climb up to the top.

Tall green grass covered the slope in front of them, dotted here and there by flowers and sheep. He saw no shepherd to tend them, but maybe they didn't need one. Perhaps the sheep were as well trained as the dogs and didn't run away even though no one watched over them. Then again, maybe the shepherd had fallen asleep somewhere in the grass on the hillside, with a broad brimmed brimmed hat over his eyes and a long straw in the corner of his mouth.

That was probably it. It's what he'd do if he was a shepherd here. The sheep seemed content to stand around and chew grass anyway. They could look after themselves while he slept. He could be a shepherd. It couldn't be that hard – as long as it didn't rain.

“Very well, Bolvar, my friend,” he said, trying to imitate Rolf's accent. “That hill won't climb itself. Let's do this thing. We'll get ourselves a good bite when we reach the top.”

Bolvar woofed, once, and set off up the trail. Enar smiled after him, maybe he'd get himself a dog when he got back home after all – a little one.

The trail went straight for the top at first, but as the slope got steeper it started serpentining its way back and forth across the hillside. As they got higher the wind picked up and halfway to the top Enar started missing his coat. Hopefully the view from the leeward side of the tree was nice. He'd surely want to sit there if it kept on like this.

Windy as it was, he kept his head down and trudged along, hugging himself to keep warm. With every step the ground rose to meet his feet and when it finally leveled out he had to stop and catch his breath for a moment. The tree stood before him.

An oak of some kind, not as tall as the ones in the field by the inn, but older than anything Enar had ever seen. He had no idea how he knew. He just did. No doubt in his mind.

Its trunk, wide as a house, held the ground in an iron grip. Branches, thicker around than his waist, wove around each other to hold up a crown of dark green leafs, grasping the sky.

Underneath the branches, right at the very base of the tree, a flat slab of stone rested on two rocks, forming a bench to sit on.

“I don't know about you buddy,” said Enar, “but that's where I'm going to spend the rest of the day.”

Bolvar snorted and sniffed around. He found a good spot, spun around twice and laid down. Enar looked at the dog settling in and then walked over to the bench and took his seat.

The world lay before him; a vast space of hills and forests, hiding lakes and paths and burrows he could never make out with his own eyes from this high up. Far, far in the distance, to the north, where the land met the sky in a blue and gray-green haze, the hills gave way to a flat expanse that could only be the Vil Fields.

Enar stared. This must be what he was meant to come here to see; the world, from above, all at once. His mind reeled and struggled to take everything in. So many hills, so many trees, so many hidden secrets he'd never know. On every hillside, in every valley, his people lived their lives in their burrows. He couldn't see them, but he knew they were there and that he'd never get to know all of them. Most of them would never know or hear of him and it wouldn't make any difference to them at all – or to him.

Serious thoughts, much too serious. Enar closed his eyes and shut the world out. He needed to be alone for a bit. The tree rose behind him, safe and strong and ancient, like a favorite great grandfather with a gnarly old hand on his shoulder in support. It didn't matter what the world knew about him.

When he opened his eyes again nothing had changed. Bolvar lay in the grass where he'd lain. The hills rose and fell just like they always had and the forest stood where it had stood for thousands of years. Enar smiled and nodded. He was okay now, just a little tired. He'd been walking for hours, much further than he could remember having walked in years. His legs ached. Back in the day, when he did his military service, he'd done a lot of marching, but that was fifteen years or so ago. He'd been young and fit back then. These days, well, he'd used to go walking in the park with his mother on the weekends and sometimes he walked home from work – if the weather was nice.

He looked at his feet. Dirty and unshaven they'd taken him far in the last few days. He imagined what they'd be like if he stayed out here. There'd be none of this soft, pink, skin and gentle stubble, that's for sure. He'd have a hard leathery hide covered in coarse fur. He'd have feet that could walk barefoot through snow and ice and think nothing of it; very manly, very rustic. He smiled to himself – as if.

Realistically, those feet were a long way off, but the ones at the end of his legs weren't to be scoffed at either. They'd climbed hills and trod woodland trails like never before in the last two days.

With a shake of his head he cleared away the daydreams and looked up into the canopy above. A little red bird looked back down at him and then flew off. Sunlight filtered in through the leafs and warmed his face. The ache in his legs went away and he sat a little straighter. A smile crept onto his face and he wiggled his toes.

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Continued in Day 3 - Scene 6.

Back to Enar's Vacation.