They left the White Heron just after breakfast.
There was no particular reason to go. The morning was clear, the road was dry, and Rowan had decided that the baskets in the inn's storeroom could survive another day without his attention.
"I shall be back before supper," he announced.
Mara looked up from the kitchen.
"Are you taking anything to eat?"
Rowan glanced at the small bundle on the table.
"I see someone has anticipated the question."
"Someone has."
He put the bundle in his basket.
Nell was waiting by the gate with her map folded beneath her arm. Elian stood beside her, wearing her dark green coat. The innkeeper had come out to see them off.
"Which way?" he asked.
Nell pointed along the village road.
"Towards the orchard. Then we'll see."
"That's a reasonable plan."
Rowan looked at the map.
"Does it show a place to stop for lunch?"
"Not yet."
"Then it is an incomplete map."
They set off.
The village was already busy. A woman was sweeping her doorstep. Two children were carrying a pail between them, spilling a little water at every step. At the old well, the schoolteacher was speaking to a man whose horse seemed more interested in eating the grass.
They passed the orchard, where Alden was pruning a tree.
"Good morning," he called.
"Good morning," said Elian.
Alden looked at the three travellers.
"Going somewhere?"
"Walking," said Rowan.
"That can be a way of going somewhere."
"Sometimes."
Alden smiled and returned to his pruning.
Beyond the orchard, the road climbed gently towards the hills. They passed the old resting place, where the wooden bench stood beneath the trees. Someone had left a small bunch of flowers on it.
Nell stopped.
"Do you think someone is coming back for those?"
"Perhaps," said Elian.
"Or perhaps they were left for whoever came next," said Rowan.
Nell considered this and drew a little flower on her map.
They continued.
At the top of the rise, the valley opened behind them. The White Heron was just visible among the village roofs. Beyond it, the river curved through the fields, and the orchard was a small patch of green.
Rowan sat on a stone.
"Well," he said. "That's a good view."
Elian stood beside him.
"You've seen it before."
"Yes."
"Does that make it less good?"
"No."
He opened the bundle and distributed the bread.
They ate in the sunshine.
After a while, Nell looked back towards the valley.
"Do you think everyone at the inn is still there?"
"Probably," said Rowan.
"Do you think they'll be doing anything?"
"Almost certainly."
"What?"
"Whatever people do when we're not there."
Nell laughed.
They went on.
The road descended into a hollow where a little stream crossed beneath a stone bridge. On the other side stood a cottage with a red roof and a garden full of late flowers.
An old woman was sitting outside, shelling peas.
She looked up as they approached.
"You're a long way from the village."
"Not so very long," said Rowan.
"Long enough to be hungry?"
Rowan glanced at his basket.
"Not at present."
The woman laughed.
"Then perhaps you can sit for a while."
They did.
She gave them water and showed Nell a small garden behind the cottage. There were beans climbing poles, a pear tree, and a patch of herbs. A narrow path led from the garden to a gate in the hedge.
"That goes towards the river," she said.
"Does it lead anywhere else?" Nell asked.
"All paths lead somewhere, child. The question is whether you want to go there."
The woman returned to her peas.
When they were ready to leave, she gave Nell a pear.
"For the road."
Nell thanked her and put it carefully in her basket.
The path beyond the cottage joined the old road again. It ran beside the stream for a while, then turned towards the valley.
They walked more slowly now.
The afternoon had begun to soften. The hills were warm with light, and the air smelled of grass and damp earth.
At a bend in the road, Elian stopped.
There was a small wooden sign beside the path. Its lettering had almost disappeared.
Nell brushed away the moss.
It read:
TO THE VILLAGE
Below it, in smaller letters, someone had carved:
AND BACK AGAIN
Rowan examined the sign.
"That seems unnecessary."
"Why?" asked Nell.
"Because if you can get to the village, you can usually get back again."
Elian smiled.
"Unless you've forgotten the way."
Rowan looked at the hills.
"Then it might be useful."
They followed the sign.
By the time they reached the village, the sun was low. Smoke rose from the chimneys. Someone was calling a dog. The White Heron's windows glowed with lamplight.
Mara was standing in the doorway.
"I wondered when you would return."
Rowan held up his basket.
"We've brought a pear."
"Only one?"
"It was a very good pear."
Nell hurried inside to tell everyone about the cottage, the old woman, and the sign.
The innkeeper listened from his place beside the fire.
"To the village," he repeated. "And back again."
He looked towards the window.
"Yes. I remember that sign."
"Who put it there?" Nell asked.
He shook his head.
"I don't know. It was there when I was a boy."
"Perhaps Alden made it," said Elian.
"Perhaps."
Rowan put the basket on the table.
"Whoever made it should have included directions to supper."
Mara laughed and called them to the kitchen.
Later, when the inn had grown quiet, Nell unfolded her map.
She added the cottage, the stream, the bridge, and the sign.
Then she drew the road back to the village.
She looked at the two lines.
They were the same road.
But she drew them anyway.
Outside, the village settled into the evening. The road lay quiet beneath the trees, leading away from the White Heron and returning to it.
And for the first time, Nell wondered whether a road home was not simply the road one had travelled before.
Perhaps it was the road that brought one back to the place where someone was waiting.
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