Sister Barbara peered at the outside world through a window on the third floor of the Cathedral. Outside, she saw the wide dirt trail that led up to the abbey, her life and prison, as well as the rolling green hills. A river flowed close by, and she followed it to where it ran off into the horizon, bound for unknown lands.
She sighed in wanderlust, and stood away from the window. A life-time ago, she had been playing in the shadow of mountains. Now, she toiled in the shadow of an abbey. Ink from copying manuscripts was stuck on her fingers, interchangeable with dirt from the gardens. Her habit was heavy and uncomfortably warm in this weather, especially when the sun beat down on its thick black fabric. There was prayer almost every moment of the day. At lunch, at dinner, in-between them,
