Bear rolled his eyes. “Pay attention. No, that’s where the map was.”
“Oh, I see,” I said with gravitas. “Can I see the map?”
Bear looked at Pickle, and Pickle gave a slight nod. A smartphone was laid in front of me, and I saw a photo of what looked like a drawing done by a third grader – or by me. I was not the finest artist and still employed the farmhouse with a long lane against a mountain backdrop with a sun in the corner technique that this artist also used.
The “map” showed a building with four windows equally placed on the front façade and surrounding a door. A couple of waving lines that were roughly parallel ran up to that door, and in the background, some arcs that overlapped formed what I assumed were mountains. On one of the mountains, a thin line disappeared at the peak, an
