The mist came down from the hills during the night.
By morning, the orchard had disappeared, the far side of the valley was hidden, and the ridge house could no longer be seen from the inn.
Nell stood at the gate.
“It's as though the world has become smaller.”
Rowan came out carrying two cups of tea.
“Only the visible part.”
She took one of the cups.
Beyond the garden, the road descended towards the stream. It was still there, though its farther end had vanished into the mist.
“I was thinking of walking up the northern hill,” she said.
“Why?”
“I don't know. I thought there might be something to see.”
Rowan looked towards the hill.
“You may have to wait until you can see it.”
They set off after breakfast.
The path climbed beyond the orchard, then crossed a stretch of open ground where the grass grew short and silver with moisture. Nell had walked there before, but she had never gone much farther than the old hawthorn.
Today the path continued.
They came upon the first stone without seeing it.
It stood beside the track, taller than Rowan, its upper edge rounded by weather. A second stood a little way beyond it, and then a third, partly hidden in the grass.
Nell stopped.
“Have you seen these before?”
“No.”
They walked on.
There were five stones altogether, though the last stood some distance from the others. They were not arranged in a circle, nor did they appear to mark a boundary. The path passed between the third and fourth, then turned towards a low rise.
The mist moved across the ground.
For a moment, Nell thought she could see another stone beyond the rise. Then it was gone.
“Perhaps there are more,” she said.
“Perhaps.”
They sat on a flat rock beside the path.
Rowan opened the paper parcel he had brought and divided the bread.
“Do you know what these stones are?” Nell asked.
“No.”
“Do you think anyone does?”
“Someone may have known once.”
They ate quietly.
A sound came from somewhere beyond the rise. It might have been water, or the movement of an animal in the grass. They listened, but it did not come again.
Nell stood.
“I want to see what is beyond there.”
Rowan gathered the parcel.
“Then we shall.”
The path descended between two low banks. On the other side, the mist thinned enough to reveal a shallow hollow. At its far edge stood a line of stones, each one smaller than those on the hill.
Between them was a narrow track.
Nell looked back.
The path they had followed was no longer visible. The stones behind them had disappeared into the mist.
“Do you think this is the same path?” she asked.
Rowan considered the question.
“It brought us here.”
“That isn't quite what I meant.”
“I know.”
They followed the track for a little way. It led towards a stand of trees, where the ground became softer and the mist gathered among the trunks.
There was no sign of a house, a field, or any familiar landmark.
Then, quite suddenly, they heard a bell.
It sounded once, faintly, from somewhere below.
“The inn,” Nell said.
“Possibly.”
They turned towards the sound.
The track brought them down through the trees and out beside the stream, not far from the bridge. The inn was visible now, its chimney sending a thin line of smoke into the clearing sky.
They reached the gate shortly before midday.
The innkeeper was sweeping the step.
“Where have you been?”
“Up on the northern hill,” Nell said.
“Did you find anything?”
“Some stones.”
The innkeeper leaned on her broom.
“Ah. The old stones.”
“You know them?”
“I know of them. My mother used to say there was a path through them, but I never found it.”
Nell glanced at Rowan.
“We did.”
The innkeeper looked towards the hills. The mist was lifting, and the northern slope was beginning to show itself.
“Perhaps you found it today.”
“Perhaps,” Nell said.
Rowan went inside to fetch the bread basket.
Nell remained at the gate.
The stones were visible now, though the hollow beyond them was not. She tried to count them, but the distance made it difficult.
She decided not to.
There would be another day.
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