They heard the clap of gunshot and the stags bellowing in the distance. Around them, the hills and crags were in shades of rust and copper, stretching out for miles, and the more the three of them climbed, the more they felt that there was nothing else except them and the glen they were walking through. The path was muddy and often there were rocks that were sharp to step on. The gradient was not steep but gradual. Often, they forgot they were climbing, until a dip downwards afforded them a larger view of clouds touching the brown mountains, the vast moorland spread out with hills dotted in white rocks and yellow heather. Slopes of hills with ancient, unpronounceable names, rocky valleys and rough grass. A waterfall just like that, appearing out of nowhere, the gushing sound of it, then a smaller one and another. A river ran parallel to the path, sometimes twisting narrow and becoming shallow as a stream with islands of pebbles and greenery. Sometimes, as they were walking, the water was just there, within reach, and sometimes instead there was a steep precipice leading to the river. The gurgle came from every side and above them. It filled their ears and they sensed the flow underneath them, clean and cool, running under the grass, coming down from the heights of the deer forests and peaks.

Salma was following the map in Lady Evelyn’s book. They were walking the dotted line that paralleled the river and curved around the mountain. Moni felt a pressure in her bladder and the continuous sounds of flowing water didn’t help. She tried her best to ignore her body and keep walking. The path was wide enough for one large car, more than ample for the three of them, and they walked at the same pace, not speaking much, except to say that the weather was good, no rain, no fog, neither too cold nor too hot. And where were the hunters? they wondered. Up there, out of sight, stalking the deer in the forests and further glens? From time to time, the roar of a stag could be heard, sounding very much like the bellow of cattle. Or was that a horn to call the deer? Mile after mile, they walked. Whenever Iman glimpsed a large rock projecting up high on the hill, she thought it was Lady Evelyn’s grave. But it was too early, there was still a long way to go. Whenever there was a bend in the path, Salma would think that it was the last bend, the turn after which they would see the hunting lodge ahead of them and there on the left, up on the northern hillside, would be the headstone they were looking for. Iman illusionary, Salma too optimistic, Moni more and more anxious about her need for a toilet.

There’s the headstone. There it is. Wishful thinking. Seeing what one wants to see. They must keep on.