XXVII - three pebbles

                                    

                                          
A/N.   In this chapter, the sentences written in italic are meant to be in french.


.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.   



"Watch your step," Danica called over her shoulder, her tone more matter-of-fact than concerned. The steep, stony path wound down toward the ocean, the cliffs on either side towering as the sun began to dip behind them. "Unless you're looking to make this trip a lot shorter."
Regulus muttered something under his breath as his foot slipped on loose gravel. "What, no offer to hold my hand? Thought you were supposed to be leading me."
Danica snorted softly, glancing back at him. "If you need that, I might've given you too much credit."
He caught himself against a rock, narrowing his eyes at her back. "So, you're enjoying this, then."
"A little." She shot him a quick look, not slowing her pace. "But if you fall, at least the view's nice."
"Comforting." Regulus let out a breath, eyeing the sharp drop to their left. "This could've been a garden. A nice room. But no."
"Drama queen," she rolled her eyes, still. 
"Right, because dragging me down a cliffside is much better," Regulus shot back, though there was no real heat in his words. He caught his balance again, exhaling as they reached a flatter stretch. "Where are we even going? This doesn't feel like one of your better ideas."
"You came, didn't you?"
"Doesn't answer my question." Regulus huffed. "And I didn't realize following you involved risking my neck on a cliffside."
"You'll live."
Instead of answering, Regulus quietly stepped closer and slipped his hand into hers. Danica didn't stop or turn around, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She squeezed his hand as she led him down the path.
The rocky, uneven stones beneath their feet began to soften, and the wind from the sea cooled as the sun dipped lower. Below, waves crashed against the base of the cliffs. On the horizon, the shape of a small Muggle village came into view, tucked against the coastline. Its cottages were clustered near the shore, smoke rising from chimneys.
Danica slowed her pace, glancing toward the village . "This is the quiet you were asking for."
Regulus looked over at her, then back to the distant village. "It's different."
"Different's good." She smiled to herself, still holding his hand. "Come on, let's go."
Regulus blinked, glancing toward the village again. "To Muggles?"
Danica stopped, turning fully to face him. "You literally live in Muggle London, Regulus. With millions of Muggles around you."
"But these are the French."
"Seriously? The French? That's what concerns you?"
"Yes."
"Merlin's beard..." she sighed and continued walking.
The path smoothed out completely as they reached the edge of the village. Danica slowed her steps, taking in the scene around them. It was quiet, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows on the cobbled streets. The village itself had a simple, almost quaint charm—modest stone houses, small shops, and the occasional bike propped against a wall.
Danica's eyes flicked from one detail to another. A man on a bicycle passed by, tipping his cap to a woman hanging laundry in her garden. An old blue telephone box stood at the corner, its paint peeling, but still very much in use. Everything was foreign, but not in the way she expected. There was no magic here, but the people moved about their lives.