The mountain road wound through fields of wildflowers and forests of tall trees before opening up to a valley covered in peach blossoms as far as the eye could see. The trees were in full bloom, soft pink petals drifting through the air like snow, carpeting the ground in shades of rose and white. The whole place smelled sweet, like honey and spring and something almost magical.
The carriage stopped beside a big cottage with thick stone walls and a wide porch lined with wooden chairs. A small stream bubbled nearby, its water clear and cold, singing as it tumbled over smooth rocks. There were hammocks tied between the peach trees and a garden full of vegetables growing beside the house. A path led down to the stream, and another path wound up the mountain toward the orchards.
