You wake up just as the sun rises and find yourself packing. All your things, they fit into a travel backpack, but once you reach your destination, you ought to buy a decent pair of walking boots and a warmer jacket. It is cold up north.
Ethan was already sitting in a bus headed for the airport when it suddenly occurred to him that this was strange. He hadn't made any travel plans, hadn't intended leave Montenegro for another two weeks.
Falling asleep, waking up in a plane. Have a drink. The air hostess has such a pretty smile.
Another airport, familiar language. London - it had been years since he'd come here. Not here to stay, though. As he buys sensible boots and a sensible jacket, the word transit fluttered around in his mind. He was only staying for one night. Tomorrow, he'd get on a train and travel (home) to Scotland. Never been there before, never wanted to go. Lately, however, there was a quiet yearning for the landscape up there.
Although Ethan just wanted to sleep - he felt tired in spite of how much he'd slept on the journey here - he had a small snack at the hotel restaurant and settled at the bar for a nightcap. He wasn't waiting for anything, yet he felt as if he was - that small twist in the stomach; anticipation laced with anxiety.