Miller glanced past her, nodded, and called her, "Isla, we are going home."
"The loquat tree is in bloom." Hearing this, Isla looked at the loquat tree in the courtyard, and then at Axel, "Brother, will the loquat tree bear fruit?"
"Meeting."
"When?"
"April and May."
"It's still a long time." Looking at her father who was still waiting outside, she pursed her lower lip and waved to him, "Brother, I'm leaving. I'll see you next time." She was still young, so she didn't understand that the next time may be far away.
Isla stepped out of the threshold and took Miller's hand. Axel watched the figures of one large and one small walking away in the snow. At the end of the trail, Isla turned back, looking at the twenty-six-year-old Axel across a long period.
***
