I decided against venturing out and drifted over to the window instead. The ledge was deep enough to sit on; so I drew back the curtains, pushed the window open a crack and settled myself there. I had to be on the top floor (the treetops surrounding the garden were almost level with me).
The garden below wasn't just lawn. There were flower beds and small ornamental trees; winding stone paths that curved under archways draped in climbing blooms. I leaned out to follow where they led and caught the glimmer of a pond just beyond the bend. I already wanted to go down there.
I pulled back and let the afternoon drift past me. The sun was already angling downward; well past midday. Below, strangers moved through the gardens at an easy pace. Some wandered toward the tree line; stripped without ceremony and shifted. I tried not to stare. I genuinely did. But this pack was something else entirely.
