The first step, smells change slightly, not so much sweat, a little perfume, the smell of a port begins. Another step, change the resonating thump of the ship against ship to the more solid thump of a ship against a pier. The third step, hold those changes and remember the holiday ships that used to put into Korranis, ignore the sailors voices and try to hear children playing…

The fourth step takes her beside a cabin door – expect a travelling case and a child’s toy, open the door and confirm that the journey has begun. Five, six steps holding the dream to mind and smelling the shore, hearing the pier, seeing the holiday makers bunks. Hold up your head, hear the gull crying, the seventh step ends at the ladder and the sounds of a city are just able to be heard.

Up the ladder, the sun overhead, the sailors quiescent, concentrate on that steady thump of the ship against the pier. Out on to the deck, looking only towards the land, three steps to the gangplank make the pier well used and the sounds of the city carry on the wind. Looking up the city is some five miles distant and the sand and stones are alien but Bronwen is on firm ground and, ahead, the scrub will provide good cover.

Growing the bushes as they approach, Bronwen breathes deeply and remembers the autumn smells of her Korranis farm. Slowly make the smells drift on the wind, hear the bird calls that remind one of home, pull the trees around you as a blanket the path begins to meet the road oft travelled home.

There is the scent of horse manure and the buzz of flies, then movement in the bushes near the road. This is where the postal horses are kept in Korranis and Bronwen chooses to see only the horses as she walks into the grove. Saddled up, they leave and now Bronwen is in her element.

It is Autumn in Korranis, there are no skylarks left and the geese have flown south for the winter. As the leaves turn to red and gold, Bronwen hears the sounds of the raven and the thrush – the only birds to stay the winter. Expect scuffling in the underbrush and scampering on the trees – the squirrels are busy and Lamogan’s hedgehog is preparing it’s nest. The stones are blue grey, the sky they same and soft white clouds run overhead. In the distance hear the horses in their corrals and the farrier at work. Before the next bend smell the wood smoke of the kitchen and the leather makers tannins. Forget the forest now, it will have changed – only remember what’s around the bend in the trail. The long sloping road that runs to the farm, the remembrance of previous homecomings will guide her now, each step is remembered – the anticipation grows.