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"Finally!" Charles pointed ahead of us.
I blinked. We were on the crest of a hill, and the trees stretched left and right in an unbroken line. Before us, spread over the slope of the hill, was Saint William’s Monastery. Fields and orchards, asleep beneath the snow, lay within its grey stone walls. One on side huddled the church and cloister, accessible to the traveler yet separated by high walls from the world. The winter sun was already setting, its red light staining the underbelly of the heavy clouds, and I could hear the bells announcing None. From the kitchens came a thick plume of smoke, and the scent of dinner was on the wind.
A good time to arrive, I thought. It had been a long day.
Peter signed a prayer of thanksgiving, then went ahead of us to the gate. Behind him, Charles leaned in and said, "If we were this close, why didn’t we hear the bells before?"
I shook my head in reply and twisted my stiff back to look over my shoulder. Neither a dark road nor a simple path broke the brush behind us.
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