It was pleasing to have a conversation companion who understood the power of feeling small in a landscape like this one. "I think some people just come out here to hunt," he said, with a hint of distaste. On cue, a dappled, pale doe moved through the trees about fifty feet away. She moved slowly, slowly, stepping through the underbrush with the ginger care of a creature that knows what it is to be chased.
Louis didn't know his dream was meant to have a structure, or that it should or shouldn't have locked boxes and doors. To him the cottage was a cottage, and his contents were whatever they might be when he reached it. Its very presence, a retreat from the cold wind and the damp droplets it shook from the trees overhead, was a comfort. It was a safe place in the awesome that stretched almost painfully into the distance, the sublime, the divine, that made him feel awed and small. He took more comfort than ever in normality - in good hiking boots and a thick sweater, in his own reflection in the mirror, just as it ought to be. "I might be," he said, with a soft smile. "I overthink most things."
He stepped down the hillside. "The hills may remain, but there's no need for us to do so," he said, briskly enough. "You're welcome to come inside and get warm, if you like." His smile warmed. "People get hypothermia up here all the time. Best not to risk it."