Cecelia,
The sun is high in the sky now and I have been walking for almost two hours. I set out a little later than first anticipated. Breakfast was something of an occasion amongst Tristan, Bitsy and their loquacious guests. Tristan’s many stories were a delight and I found it difficult to remove myself from the table. I excused myself during a rare lull in the conversation and made my way to my room with Harmony in tow.
Harmony perched upon my bed as I gathered a few of my things together and pulled on my heavy soled walking boots. She seemed dejected at the thought of me setting out alone. My assurances failed to lift her spirits and when invited, she politely declined to accompany me.
I hugged her tightly to me and as we parted company and I was but ten steps from her, she cried after me.
‘ The one witht the amber eyes salivates for those who lose their way!’
As you can well imagine, sister, this declaration has not inspired me with confidence. I must make it to Cleo’s by nightfall if I am to remain safe.
I took a taxi through the busy streets in town, but here, the roads will only carry you so far. I have been trudging along disused tracks in a Northerly direction, tripping often as my feet become entangled in the damp undergrowth. My stomach began to complain loudly some time ago, and so I am resting and eating the cold luncheon which was prepared for me by Bitsy this morning. I am very grateful for her consideration and she has spoiled me so! She has even included my favourite chocolates and an array of petit fours!
Oh, but it is so peaceful here, I shall sit a while and absorb the
Cecelia!
I have slept for far too long! I must cross the river up ahead if I am to be at Cleo’s before the sun shifts toward evening. It is not much farther and once I am over the bridge I will have but a few miles’ walk to Cleo’s.
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There. I am across the bridge, which I had half expected to be a ricketty construction of wood and knotted vines. I was pleasantly surprised to find a rather more sturdy effort made from what appears to be a local stone. I have seen much of it about the place.
The vista which now stretches before me is quite astonishing. High-reaching trees cover the mountains almost to its peak and water cascades from a great waterfall which pools and then flows to the West. Scattered hither and yon, are towering ancient monuments of the same stone as the bridge. A perfect and delightful Utopia as far as the eye can see. I search for the path most suitable for cutting across this magnificent forest and spy a trail to my left. The path winds upward in a series of awkward twists and turns and I realise at once that these miles, though few, will prove to be a challenge to one so unused to much exercise.
It will be many hours before I can write again, Cissy. Perhaps I might compose letters to you in my thoughts, as an accompaniment with which to amuse myself and thus make the miles pass more quickly.
Elizabeth.
