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Summary
His was an unexpected kindness, in such a foreign place.
She woke on her back to soft pine earth and dappled sunlight. A clear mountain stream rushed nearby, the water parting before it crested over a break to either side of a buddha’s head, a piece of a fallen statue. Her body was still warm with the soft buzz of brunch Champagne. Tipsy enough, perhaps, not to question her circumstances.
She wondered often, in the years that followed, if her fate would have been different had she lingered on that strip of sunlit path. Perhaps she would have found her way to the base of the mountain rather than its peak, found a village and lived a quiet life.
But she did not linger, did not know to, and that was not her fate.