It was a good, springy ground for walking, and a day of pale winter sunlight. As they got deeper into the moor, the loneliness increase: one could hear peewits and see an occasional hawk. When they halted in the middle of the morning for a rest and a drink in a little hollow by a stream, Jill was beginning to feel that she might enjoy adventures after all, and said so.

“We haven’t had any yet,” said the Marshwiggle.

(The Silver Chair. C.S. Lewis.)

@3 months ago with 1 note
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