The old orchard lay beyond the last row of winter houses, where the plateau tilted gently toward a dry stone wall.
Iven had passed it a dozen times without entering. From the road he could see bare branches, a locked tool shed and a narrow path of crushed white stone. On the four hundred and eighty-fifth day, Hedra opened the gate and led him along that path to a bench beneath the largest tree.
The bench was sound. He noticed before sitting and kept the observation to himself.
“Do you know why I brought you here?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good. I was afraid Elian had already explained it.”
She sat with her stick across her knees. Two late leaves hung on the tree above her, brown and curled but still refusing the wind. Beyond the wall, the roofs of the new wards filled ground that had once held little more than grazing shelters and storage sheds.
Hedra looked toward them for a while.
