Sitting on a stone bench, I inhaled the scent of herbs and greens. Spring was late this year and my brothers kept me inside until the slippery threat of frost had fully faded from the garden's stone path, so finally getting outside again was a blessing. Footsteps crunched the dirt, coming nearer. "What is it, Brother Michael?" I asked. "How do you always know, Adamo?" "Your footfalls are heavy, my friend. I doubt you could creep upon the ancient." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "It's time for supper." Steadying my walking stick on the ground before me, I stood and set my hand on his shoulder. He was one of the few men taller than me at the monastery, but not by much, and he was used to modifying his gait to match my hesitant steps. Twenty paces later, we reached the kitchen door. Ours was not an order subsisting on bland and meager offerings, so the scents of roasted meat and vegetables came to me upon Brother Michael opening the door. My mouth watered and stomach growled, causing me to wonder how much time passed while I was outside.
