She was delivered home by 11:30pm. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. Had Valade been to see him? Possibly even yesterday when he was followed by some young lad—and the girl, of course. Knowledge was sacred in Athens, knowledge and his twin, Art. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible.
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