Eva had been offered a lift. She had declined it, which she recognised, even as she said it, as the kind of decision that looked different depending on how things turned out. If she arrived refreshed and satisfied, it would seem like wisdom. If she arrived exhausted and behind schedule, it would seem like stubbornness. At the halfway point, the distinction felt academic.
The walk was longer than she had thought, and the middle section was harder than expected. She stopped twice, not because her body required it but because her mind was moving faster than her feet and she needed a moment to let them find the same pace.
There was something she was working out, she realised, though she could not have said precisely what. Not a problem, exactly — more a kind of settling. The movement helped. There is a quality of thought available during sustained physical effort that is not available any other way: less directed, less careful, more willing to sit with uncertainty rather than resolve it.
By the time she reached home, two hours after she had set out, she was tired in the specific way of someone who has used their body well. She made tea, sat by the window, and was aware — without quite being able to explain it — of feeling more organised in herself than she had when she left. The walk had done something she had not known she needed.
She thought, briefly, about the person who had offered the lift. She would thank them again. But she was glad she had said no.