As Myka and the children worked together to pack up the camp and prepare for the long hike up the mountain, Ashleigh was gathering her own supplies when she heard a voice whisper through her memory.
‘Remember to leave me a gift of bread and salt from time to time to show your appreciation.’
She looked down into her pack. Then, she pulled out a piece of bread wrapped in a napkin she had saved to eat later.
“Myka,” she called.
“Yes?”
“Do you have any salt?”
Myka furrowed his brow and tilted his head. But he pulled the pack off his back and rummaged through it until he found a small tin.
“Of course,” he said, handing it to her. “Hard to make a good stew without some salt.”
Ashleigh took the tin with a nod of thanks. She looked around, unsure of what she was looking for, until her eyes landed on an old tree. The roots had grown out of the ground around the base of the tree in such a way that it appeared as though there was a small entryway.
It seemed fitting.
