She thought she was strong? There was no one who would or could out-climb Karl. At least, not anywhere nearby. He was only now making his name as a guide, but he was well respected, and there was no way some ridiculous brown-eyed English sprite was going to outmatch him.
Behind Onkel Peter, Tante Greta tsked. Her large forearms were thrust into the washing bin, and she didn’t bother to look up. “You are losing weight, Karl. That’s not good. Eat more, walk less.”
“Tante, I cannot walk less.”
“Stop taking that girl out first, then you will walk less. Then maybe both of you will eat breakfast.”
“Sometimes the girl only eats the Brötli I fix her before the midday walk!” Onkel Peter added.
Karl sighed. He didn’t like that Fräulein Brewer was losing weight rapidly either. Some weight loss would be expected—they were here to climb mountains, and living in higher altitudes often kept a person slim. But the rate both of them were shedding pounds was not sustainable.
“A break, perhaps?” Onkel Peter suggested, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling in hope. “One day off?”
“Yes, everyone knows you must rest,” Tante Greta said. “Like bread. It can only rise after a rest.”
“I will think about it,” Karl promised. “Can you pass me the broom, Onkel?”
The older man waved him away. “I will sweep. You eat this plate your Tante made you.”
Karl glanced over to the corner where a small table sat with two chairs—where they ate in the kitchen, while the rest of the guests ate in the dining room. On the table was a small plate, laden with cheese and dried fruit.
“Tante, I ate dinner. Every morsel. I promise.”
She shook her head, and Karl thought he might see the young woman in there that had bewitched a young Peter Brunner away from stately Augsburg and into the snow-capped mountains. “You must eat. Keep up your strength, because I have seen this girl. She will not stop. I know, because I see her. I was like her, too. I would not stop for anything or anyone. I’d rather die. And you keep her moving at this rate, she will drop dead in front of you rather than disappoint you.”
“Yes, Tante.” Karl went over and obediently ate the cheese and fruit, chewing quickly for fear of falling asleep sitting up.
**
She woke at four. But now she didn’t expect to surprise him. Indeed, he was there, arms folded, bright-eyed, waiting, the bloody wanker. Fine. Again, without a word, he led them out of the inn and into the blue-purple pre-dawn twilight. He took her a different way this time, not up the goat path, but the opposite direction. They walked up the valley, from where they had arrived on the donkeys a week earlier. Had it only been a week? It seemed like it had been a month at least.
They walked along the frozen stream at a quick clip, Justine practically running to keep up with Karl’s fast pace. Hesaid nothing, but she trailed alongside him, a half step behind. As soon as she caught up, she could swear he started walking faster.
But the chill invigorated her. It was as if yesterday her body had turned a corner. Instead of screaming at her to stop and lay down, to sleep for an entire week if possible, now it was happy to accommodate her demands. Her legs ached not to rest, but rather to keep moving. Her head no longer hurt from fatigue. Even the blisters she on her smallest toes had hardened into callouses.
He wanted to hike twice a day? Fine. He wanted to run these trails in silence, fine. She could do it, and happily so. Even though his speed was high, something felt different. He seemed not as distant in that half-step ahead of her. As if he were going to actually speak. Wouldn’t that be novel?
“Here,” he said finally, pointing to a path that diverged from the stream. They walked across the valley, closer to another town—had they already gone the distance of an entire town?—and then started up a steep path that would no doubt end in Justine’s heart wanting to explode out of her body.
Once they were up in the trees, she grew accustomed to the slightly slower rhythmic pace of Karl’s steps, still almost a run for her much-shorter legs. Whatever hope she had for a conversation died. After his one-word direction earlier, he didn’t speak, so she didn’t either.
They moved, fully in their bodies, up the mountain on long sloping switchbacks. They climbed until they reached the tree line. Above there, the icy, rocky scree was slippery, but still they ascended. The breeze felt good, even though it was cold. Her nose ran continuously, and she kept running her woolen glove under it.
They crested a rounded area, a shoulder of the mountain, and Karl slowed to a stop. Her breath came in short pants as shestopped next to him, her hands on her hips. This hadn’t been the worst of their paths, but it was the speed that had made it difficult. Her calves burned, and the sides of her thighs ached from the use.
She was shocked he’d stopped at all. At no point in the earlier walks had he let them stop. Only when they were on the afternoon hikes did he give them time to relax and admire views. Or teach them about local flora and fauna. Usually, she was too tired to listen. Besides, he was mostly speaking with Tristan and Ophelia, who both loved to learn those tedious bits about a place.
“I like seeing the houses,” Karl said out of nowhere.
Justine could only look, not having enough breath to speak, and shocked by an actual conversational topic. Indeed, down below them, she could see the town they’d almost reached, and then to her left she could barely make out Zermatt, crowded as it was by the trees.
“It’s nice,” Justine said as soon as she could. Was she supposed to answer him back? Did he want to chat, or did he want to opine at her?
“Do you know this town?” he asked her, pointing to the one they had turned up the path before entering.
She shook her head, feeling the wool scratching at the sweaty nape of her neck as she did so. Were they going to have a chat? Did she need to bring a flask of tea for this? But she didn’t want to ruin his candor by bringing attention to their typical silence.
“This town is called Täsch. It was wiped out centuries ago by a rockslide.”
