In the past, the little Lariette had always seen the new boy sitting perched on this particular tree. Then, she begged him to teach her how to climb it.
Even though she was raised in a rural village where children often rolled in the mud while playing, she was still very young. Her grandmother had also reminded the other children not to teach her such a skill.
The new boy, although often alone and gloomy, agreed easily. After a few failed attempts, the little girl succeeded. Since then, they often sat on the sturdy branch while looking at the scenery.
Even though Lariette's memories of the past twenty years had become faint, she still remembered how fond she was of the boy.
"Eddy," Lariette shifted her gaze from the tree to Ruediger, her eyes soft, "Have I ever asked why you always climbed it? I've forgotten."
"You had," he curled his lips, and then gently led her toward the tree, "I said because I wanted to see beyond the forest line. Nothing else."
