“This is serenity itself.” Paul pulled his horse to a stop and let out a deep exhale. The gentle slope, the lush greenery; it was so beautiful compared to the flat concrete and steel towers of New York. At last, he felt the tension of the last month lifting off his body.
Khuyen pulled her horse next to him. “You don’t want to stop here.”
Her voice drifted off into the cool, crisp air and he ignored it. No boss hovered over him, no auditor stood behind him, no ‘Karen’ screaming that he wasn’t working hard enough on her investments.
“Paul!” Khuyen’s voice cut through his reverie. “Just because this is the safest way to get to the temple; that doesn’t mean this route is without danger. Let’s go.”
Paul pulled a water-skin from his saddlebag and pulled a long draught. “I could stay here forever, you know? Just leave the brokerage and tend these fields.”
“You don’t want to stay here. Let’s go.” Khuyen repeated, and both horses snorted in seeming agreement.
“How do the locals get these rows so even? You can’t run traditional farming equipment on slopes that steep.”
“They aren’t rows, and those aren’t leaves. Now… Let. Us. Go.” She clicked her tongue and her horse lurched forward.
“Ok, ok! Ease up, Miss Alarmist.” He put his water-skin back and likewise urged his horse into motion. It seemed far too grateful to be moving. “If they aren’t rows of plants, then what are they?”