Snow Mountain

- 6 -

She is not sure what first sparked her interest. Perhaps it is his voice, so deep and rich, often filled with mirth when he talks to her. Or his hands, huge, yet gentle when he washed the filth from her hair and fashioned boots for her feet. Or maybe it is his back, so strong and so broad, or his shoulders, too tall for her hands to reach.

Or perhaps it is the armor standing in the store room, telling of strength untold and scars unseen. It entrances her, the mystery of why a man who could wield a spear the height of the house would choose to hide on a mountain and raise goats.

Curiosity is a powerful allure.

Whatever the origin, her interest is undeniable as she watches him rise on the sixth day of her stay on his mountain. He pushes aside the curtain around the same time as always, and she catches sight of the piles of skins beyond it he uses as a bed.

He sees her and smiles, then nods to the food she has placed out on the table. "Thank you for preparing. You need not do so though."

She raises a half eaten dried plum. He laughs. "Too hungry to wait, huh?" he says as he sits across from her and reaches for a mug of goat's milk.

She watches him as they eat and the herdsman makes one sided conversation. He has forgotten to tighten the belt of his tunic after rising and it hangs loose enough for her to see the muscles of his chest. She bites her lip, then reaches for another wrinkled plum.

"Jalintu, did you hear me?" he questions. She looks up sharply.

"Today I will take the goats to the far pasture, then climb the peak. You need not come with me if you don't wish to. It will be cold."

She shakes her head, showing her will to follow him has not changed.

They clean the table, then tie their boots and wander into the snow. The day is bright as always, the morning sun as blinding as if the earth was new and it had just begun to shine for the first time.

Fresh snow has fallen in the night. Her feet crunch through the frozen crust that has formed by the frigid wind over the top.

They find the goats huddled near the cave, their thick fur choked with ice. The herdsman uses his crook to nudge them on, particularly an old, brown goat that bleats angrily, reluctant to follow.

"That's Thymonos," the herdsman said to her, as an aside. "My old buck. He's the reason I found you in the snow." His crook taps the old wethers side lightly, and the goat finally went, still bleating. "I was going to eat him come spring, but I suppose he still has his uses."

He grins at her, and to her surprise she finds herself smiling in return.

The goats are quickly driven to pasture, eager to find fresh grass beneath the snow, and then the herdsman turns for the peak. She trails after, finding her footsteps following his own huge footfalls.

They reached the peak by midday, when the sun is highest in the southern sky. The woman draws in a sharp breath. Above and around them is nothing but blue sky, and below that the white peaks of mountains, seeming small from this height.

Atop the world like this, the woman feels as though she could reach out her hand and take the fiery orb onto her palm. And so she does, hand stretched toward the sky. When it proves out of reach, she stretches out toward the closest white peak, then the next, her fingers skipping from mountain top to mountain top.

For a moment, she finally feels free.

Beside her the herdsman chuckles. "Feels like you're flying up here, huh?"

She nods her agreement, breath clouding the air.

When it grows too cold to stay longer, they descend, regather the goats, and return to the cave for the night.