Jacopo hoisted his rucksack down a little more slowly, not quite as able to roll with the punches as Birch was. Although he’d lived on Shaman for a number of years now, his experience of it was extraordinarily limited. For most of his time on the planet he’d been in prison or under house arrest, and for the short time before that he’d limited his contact with the outside world, preferring to move between Oliford and the Castle with blinkers on. This was, hands down, his weirdest Shaman experience. He released the bag’s clasp and rifled around inside.

“A tent,” he muttered, feeling the poles in the bag within the bag. “Clothes, some food… no sleeping bag.”

He didn’t know why he felt the need to mention that, but it made his heartrate inch up a notch. Only one tent and sleeping bag between them.

Maybe we won’t need either, he reminded himself coolly as he swing the rucksack onto his back. Maybe we’re not far from home.

That didn’t seem likely, even by Shaman’s bizarre geographical nature. These pine trees were completely different to the evergreens he was used to back in the Kingswood. Jacopo had a quick look around and then cast Birch a doubtful glance, hoping she would take responsibility for choosing a direction. This seemed more her forte. He was an archivist, for crying out loud – a member of the Divine Scribes. Shaman may think of him as a gardener but those skills were self-taught and relatively newly-acquired; he was about as good in the unknown wilderness as any other paper-pusher.

Fortunately, Birch took the hint and led them on a brief trek through the woods. Jacopo was too caught up wondering what the heck was going on to pay much attention to the pretty surroundings, but that all changed when the forest opened up onto a plain. He caught his breath. The grass before them gently sloped down towards a wide, glittering lake of the most brilliant blue he’d ever seen in his life. The seamless colour was broken only by the reflection of the snow-capped mountains which loomed prettily on the opposing bank. It was like a scene from a postcard.

One thing was for sure: they were nowhere near home. The sun was starting to drop in the sky and already a faint chill was creeping over his skin, making the hairs on his arm stand on end. They were going to need a shelter set up to make it through the night before they could figure out what to do and how to get home.

“I can probably put the tent up,” he offered, not sounding entirely sure of himself. “Can you make a fire?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jacopo half-regretted them. Of course she could make a fire. Birch could probably set up a shelter one-handed and sleepwalking.

They set about their respective tasks checking in on each other’s progress occasionally. It was hard not to feel a bit inadequate when Birch was able to get a fire going, set up a stock of firewood, and take inventory of their food and supplies in the time it took him to figure out how to put the tent up and secure it. It looked uncomfortably small – one- or two-man berth at the most. And there was definitely only one sleeping bag; Birch had gone through both rucksacks thoroughly.

He sat down on a log by the fire, watching a little helplessly as she set up some kind of cooking apparatus. It was only when the merrily crackling fire seemed to be doing its work independently that the moment felt right to bring up the topic of conversation he’d been mulling over while trying to erect the tent.

“We need to talk about this,” he opened quietly. He let that hang for a moment, turning over what needed to be said in his mind. “We need to talk about what this is, and where we’re going with it, and how fast to go, and how to work through all the history between us, and the impact this could have on the kids.” He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “We got together really quickly before, and you didn’t really know me at all. Then you went and had another life, and you fell in love again, and I…” he shrugged, “…never did. I didn’t move on.”

Prison had that effect on a person.

“And you still don’t really know me. Before this goes any further…” he felt his mouth run dry. “You should know, that was my second time in prison. I’m a repeat offender.”