A cluster of woolly clouds drifted high above and she pushed her stick into the firm earth and strode out. When the hills grew steeper she bent her knees into the effort and set her pace against the thrum of her heartbeat in her ears. She’d added extra linen to the lining of her boot, and it helped to keep her stump from rubbing. She raised her face to the Sun and, with tears of longing that caught in her throat, to the memory of her brother and sister. She called out to Pippo to run and play in the clouds of his new home in Heaven, just as she’d watched him do in their garden. She spoke to Maria, telling her sister of her journey to this place, of her freedom to walk and explore, how much she would enjoy the chickens and their perfect eggs. She told her that her passion made her strong and she never should have quieted her or made her feel small.

She stopped walking as the last words slipped from her lips and a great swell of tenderness stung sharply in her throat and rushed to her eyes. Tears streaked her cheeks. ‘Forgive me,’ she said as loudly as she could muster.

She came to a field where the rain had done its job and the grass was green and long and tufted with seeds that stuck to her skirts as she pushed her way through. It was very different to the naked dirt beneath the olive trees’ shade and Luna had to tread more carefully. She grunted at a sudden twinge in her ankle and slowed her pace, untying the rope that belted her walking smock and threading it behind her neck and beneath her hair so that she could pull the two ends up atop her head. Her smock fluttered but her hair no longer caught in her eyes.

After walking on for a while she stopped to rest. The morning light made everything seem a little brighter and clearer to distinguish. She noticed a smaller goat’s path that veered off to the left. Keen to avoid bumping into the labourers, she followed it, treading more carefully as she followed it down a slight hill and over another, through a copse of low, broad fruit trees. She saw an empty basket at the base of a tree and looked about, expecting to hear the sounds of farm workers, but there was only the rustle of a rabbit in the fallen leaves. When she picked up the basket the woven handle broke apart and she realised it had probably been there since last season’s fruit picking.