The scent of pine drifted through the open window, mingling with the faint sweetness of wildflowers carried up from the meadow below. A stream tumbled somewhere unseen, its voice blending with the soft rustle of wind in the trees and the distant call of a jay. Before them, peaks rose sharp against a bright morning sky, still streaked with snow despite the warmth in the valley. Hand in hand, they leaned on the sill, whispering over which trail to follow first—perhaps the ridge that promised sweeping views, or the shaded path where the forest grew thick and secretive. Whatever they chose, the day was theirs to claim, the mountains waiting like an invitation.