The rest of their journey passed without incident. They spent their days walking and their nights sleeping soundly on the leaf-strewn forest floor. Felix was well supplied with provisions for them both, which they supplemented with blackberries, chestnuts, and tart wild strawberries. Like a sapling that has been too long enclosed by weeds and has grown thin and pale, the young monk seemed to flourish in the fresh air and the autumn sunshine. Or perhaps it was the regular exercise that filled out his frame and deepened his colour until there was in him less of the cloistered monk and more of the carefree village lad he must once have been.
She wondered, then, if he regretted having left that life. “Friend Felix,” she asked, as they paused to drink at a stream, its cool waters fast-flowing
