The Pilgrimage - Ch2 -

Elena sat by the fire and let the warmth seep into her bones. Around her, conversations murmured in half a dozen languages—German, French, Italian, something that might have been Dutch. A young man with a guitar played softly in the corner. An old woman knitted what appeared to be a very long, very narrow scarf.

“The day is young. Or rather, the journey is long.” He stood and tested his weight on the foot, winced, then shrugged. “I am Mateo. From Valencia.” the pilgrimage - ch2

Elena adjusted the strap of her pack and set her eyes on the path that led out of the village, past the last stone houses, past the rusted gate where children had once dared each other to touch the iron, and into the long, undulating grasslands that rolled toward the first hills. The Camino de las Estrellas was marked by weathered posts carved with a simple eight-pointed star—the estrella that gave the route its name. The first post stood just beyond the village limits, its paint long since faded to a ghostly silver. Elena sat by the fire and let the warmth seep into her bones

The afternoon stretched long and golden. She walked through meadows where wild lavender grew in dense, fragrant bushes, and the bees moved with a drowsy, deliberate grace. She passed a ruined chapel, its roof long since collapsed, the altar open to the sky. Someone had left a small stone on the threshold—a pilgrim’s offering, a token of passage. Elena added another, then continued. An old woman knitted what appeared to be

Then she turned and walked on.