Time hadn't been kind to it — crooked slats, some leaning, a few missing altogether — but it still stood, surrounding the field not far from the house.
When they reached the low ridge beyond the trees, Billy saw the old wooden fence before Artur even pointed.
Billy stopped in his tracks, eyes softening. "Here…"
Artur nodded. "Yeah."
The field was quiet now. Overgrown in some places.
But the wide patch near the fence still held traces of order — a line of old gardening stakes, the ghost of a path worn down by years of footsteps.
"You used to hate this part," Artur said, stepping closer to the gate. He lifted the latch, let it creak open. "Said the dirt got under your nails for days."
Billy laughed under his breath. "You made me plant carrots in the wrong season."
"You said you liked carrots."
"I lied."
They both laughed, the kind that came from remembering something far enough away that it stopped hurting.
