Perhaps that was why she loved the leaves — they meant the coming of the fire. The leaves would be collected, raked into a big pile and then the tre...sure hunt began. Anything that could or would burn was added to the pile — a fallen limb or tree was gold, but old fences, broken furniture, one year even an old tumbledown shed. And the higher the pile grew the more excited she became, counting down the days to Burn Night. There was always a second pile too, but this was different. It wasn’t the. She looked back on the day’s climb. It hadn’t been enjoyable, but she felt a real sense of accomplishment. She even felt more relaxed with this odd group of people she had climbed with. ‘Joe, could you arrange for some decent French wine for the next nights. We were told this was a luxury trek.’ said Richard. ‘Don’t you like this?’ asked the tattooed George. ‘Well, it’s not French.’ The conversation flowed. Janet noticed that Joe didn’t say much himself, but asked questions about the others to. More

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