"Tell me about the winters here," I said, genuinely curious about what life looked like during the months when isolation would be even more complete. "Do you ever feel... trapped?"
Mary's hands stilled on her teacup. "Trapped isn't the word I'd use. Remote, certainly. But there's beauty in that remoteness, peace in knowing the world's troubles can't reach you easily."
Can't reach you. Or perhaps won't let you reach them. The distinction felt important, though I couldn't articulate why.
Jamie shifted on his bench, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of our conversation. "The work doesn't stop for weather," he said. "Horses still need tending, fires still need wood. Keeps you busy enough that you don't think much about what's beyond the boundaries."
Don't think about what's beyond
