The woodland broke onto a path hemmed in by rickety walls no taller than Ben’s waist. Purpling ivy twined through them, holding their parts together like sickly fingers. He had a vague idea of where they were, as a sailor lost at sea can hazard a guess as to what ocean he’s in.

There was no birdsong. No noise that wasn’t their making. There hadn’t been a sound since the bells.

Every new mile had felt like a repeat of the last. Even the trees looked alike, as though they had drawn up their roots and run ahead to fill in the blank spaces. But the earth here was worn and even, and the wilder thorns had been slashed back. People came this way.

Chloe’s red sunglasses were propped on her forehead. She was squinting down at her phone. Those big boots scuffed across the clay, kicking up a powdered mist around her ankles. From here on out, Ben was determined to keep an imaginary tether to her side, like a jaded dog out for a stroll with its master.

‘Are we close?’ he asked.

His mental wellbeing – now more so than the physical – hung on Chloe’s answer.

Her eyes narrowed towards the horizon. ‘We’re here,’ she announced. ‘Look!’

Plumes of smoke curled through the distant sky, as though giants slumped across its hidden pastures, puffing cigar smoke into the air.

Where there were fires being stoked, there were villagers in need of interviewing.

‘Finally,’ Ben said, unable to contain his smile.

‘I know,’ she gasped, letting her tongue hang out. ‘Not much farther now, Benny Boy.’

They continued along the path, forsaking Chloe’s GPS in lieu of good old-fashioned chimney smoke. He’d been her passenger since they left the car, tailing her legs on autopilot, but his eyes finally opened as they passed a loose grove of aspen. Golden light sliced between their branches, making all those leaves shimmer like paper coins. The undergrowth had thinned. But the slender aspens stood strong, their roots entwined as might lovers’ fingers under a candlelit table.

The throes of cross-country travel had obviously darkened Ben’s take on the world. He had seen only the trials, not Mother Nature’s triumphs. But now she was no longer laid out on her deathbed, lips too parched to speak, her once luscious hair wilting like dead weeds. She was youthful and alive, her honeyed hair captured in every spear of light.

‘This isn’t so bad now, is it?’ he said, wincing slightly as he straightened back his shoulders.

‘Since we hopped that gate, you haven’t peeled your eyes off your boots.’

‘That was different.’ Ben chuckled. ‘I’m all the about the destination.’

‘There are literally thousands of inspirational quotes about the journey being the important part.’

‘Pay no heed to them, Ms Coogan,’ he replied. ‘They’re all bollocks.’