WHEN EARTH MEETS THE SKY

Chapter 2

The cows knew the path by heart. Langlen barely had to guide them anymore. They followed the same route every morning, walking single-file through the narrow valley and up toward the grazing lands. She followed behind, a thin bamboo switch resting against her shoulder, humming a Khullang Eshei, a Manipuri folk song, that her mother used to sing during the harvest.

At eighteen, Langlen had been walked these hills since she was old enough to hold a switch. She knew every rock, every bend in the path, every patch of thick grass and marshy ground after rain. Her mother said she'd probably do this until she married, and then her own daughters would do it after her.

Langlen hadn't thought much about marriage. The boys in her village were just… boys. They were the ones who pulled her hair, smeared her face with too much aber, laughed as they splashed water during the Yaoshang festival, showed off by lifting heavy things, got drunk on rice beer, and sang too loudly. None of them made her heart feel anything interesting. She figured love would come eventually, the way it did in the stories her grandmother told, arriving as naturally as the seasons.

The sound came first. Hoofbeats behind her, faster than a farmer's plodding pace, coming up the hill. Langlen's grip tightened on the bamboo switch. The cows ahead of her heard it too. They slowed, uneasily, bunching together on the narrow path. She clicked her tongue softly to settle them and stepped aside, pressing her back against the thorny bushes on the uphill side. Her phanek snagged on a branch.

She felt the pull at her hip but kept her face forward, as if a British rider overtaking her on a hill path was nothing worth turning around for. The hoofbeats slowed. Then stopped. About twenty feet behind her.

She could feel his eyes on her back like a hand between her shoulder blades. She kept walking. The cows rounded the bend ahead and she followed them, not once turning around, until the hill path curved and the grazing lands opened before her and she finally… finally let out the breath she'd been holding.

She did not look back. There was nothing behind her worth seeing.

The path was empty now.

Just George on his horse and the place where she'd been, the grass still shifting where the cows had passed. He hadn't meant to stop. The path was wide enough to pass, just barely, and he'd slowed out of courtesy or so he told himself. But then she'd stepped aside without looking at him, clicked her tongue at the cows as if he were nothing more than weather, and something about that had made him pull the reins without thinking.

He sat there on the path, watching the place where she'd disappeared around the bend. The cows were already out of sight. She hadn't looked back. Not once. George became suddenly, uncomfortably aware of the residency seal on the saddle. Of how much space he took up on a path that wasn't his. He turned his horse slowly and rode back down the hill, and didn't examine too closely why the morning felt different now.

The next morning, Langlen climbed the hill with her usual rhythm, her switch tapping lightly against her leg. The cows ambled peacefully ahead. When she reached the crest of the hill, she paused and looked around casually. The valley spread below, empty except for early morning farmers in their fields.

George had decided not to ride out that morning. He had books to read. His father had mentioned wanting him to learn about local administration. He made it until mid-morning before saddling the horse.

"Just a short ride," he told the stable hand. "Need to clear my head."

The path felt different in full daylight. George rode without particular purpose, letting the horse choose its pace. He tried to focus on the landscape and the architecture of the distant villages.

Movement caught his eye. Up ahead, on the hillside. Cattle grazing, their bells creating a distant chime. A small figure stood among them at the crest, one hand shading her eyes as she looked out over the valley. He was below her on the lower path, looking up at the silhouette against the sky. He didn't ride closer. Didn't call out. Just sat there on his horse, too far away to see her clearly, close enough to be certain it was her.

She lowered her hand. For a moment, she seemed to look directly at him. Then she turned back to her cows. George watched until she disappeared around a bend. Then, he turned his horse toward home.

On the way back to the residency, two British soldiers were walking the morning patrol route.

"Good morning, sir."

George started. One of the patrol soldiers stood nearby, adjusting his rifle strap.

"Good Morning."

"Out early, sir?"

"Just riding," George said. "Getting familiar with the area."

The soldier's gaze drifted toward the hills rising above them, then toward the villages scattered in the distance. "Beautiful country," he said. "Just be careful where you wander. The locals aren't always welcoming, if you take my meaning."

"Of course."

The soldier nodded and continued on his patrol.