Kid probably forgot to exhale on every turn.
"It's beautiful here," I remarked, trying to ignore the flustered kid and giving him a chance to recover from the trip.
"I don't know why they call the rock red," Oscar spoke up.
I laughed. Even in a stressful situation, the kid stayed true to himself and kept nitpicking.
"I love trips like this. Always have," I continued. "New experiences spark new ideas for my paintings. I think when I get back home, I’ll sketch these landscapes."
"But you don’t like it here," the kid stated, and I thought I heard a note of reproach in his voice.
"I don’t like the feeling of being trapped," I corrected him. "Once I sort out all the absurd things going on here, I might even come back."
"I'm gonna go… somewhere," Oscar mumbled, leaving his helmet on the motorcycle seat.
"Where is there to go?"
"Got stuff to do!" the kid threw back and stepped behind the jutting base of the rock, which curved around us like a protective embrace.
"If you needed to take a leak, you could’ve just said so. What’s there to be shy about?" I clicked my tongue and leaned against the stone support next to me.
"Really though… the rock's not red at all."
The stone fortress seemed impregnable at first glance. On either side stood steep, sheer cliffs, devoid of any approaches (except for the possibility of going around them in a circle). The smooth, small surface of the ledges offered no chance of finding a way up. Yet, a barely noticeable narrow path stretched toward the summit. I tilted my head back, trying to trace where it led.
"The surface up there is mostly flat, slightly convex in the center and sloped. Hang gliders love it for that. People usually come here briefly and with a specific purpose—to artificially elevate themselves, to feel like a bird, but then, when the magic of flight fades, they leave as if they were never here. It’s always sad because of that, but also curious—which next city of winds will take them away?"
I stepped away from the girl who had suddenly appeared from behind the rocky ledge I was leaning against.
My company in this desolate wilderness clearly didn’t unsettle her. But her appearance left me stunned.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
"Since birth," she shrugged. "Well, not right on this spot, of course, but in my own home. I live behind this cliff. And every time the cold evening wind blows, every time I hear the late train rushing past our outskirts—I remember the City of Winds. Oh, how often I remember it!"