It was several large boulders surrounding a central pillar. I stood at the bottom of it, looking up as David wandered around it feeling the rock. I was surprised when I saw him taking off his shoes. "You're not climbing this, are you?"
"Yeah. We've got to see where we are."
"But you don't have shoes. And we don't have a rope. And, well, what if you fall?"
I was about to protest, but he wedged his hand into a seam, and began climbing.
It had taken us longer than I had expected to reach the rocks. The sun was slipping rapidly toward the horizon as David worked his way up the face. He paused for a moment to rest atop one of the boulders, and then began his attack on the main pillar. The rock was chossy, heavily weathered and crumbly. Several times, he nearly fell, only to catch himself by one hand or a particularly secure foothold. I breathed a deep sigh of relief when he finally stood atop the pillar.
Turning carefully, he surveyed the landscape below, pausing once before he had completed the circle. When he had turned completely around, he returned to the point where he had paused, and held his arm straight out in front of him. "Make a mark on the ground pointing the same direction as my arm. We need to remember this direction."
I scrambled to where I could see him better, carefully aligned myself with his arm, and scraped a line into the dirt using the heel of my shoe, wincing as I did so. A bath. What I wouldn't give for a hot bath. I turned to ask David why we needed to remember this direction, but he had already begun his descent. I didn't dare interrupt, back climbing is much more difficult; he needed every bit of concentration to keep from falling.
Several minutes later, he collapsed onto the top of one of the boulders, panting and sweating. "Whoo! That was pretty sketchy there at the end. OK. Give me a second. I'll be down right away."
I don't think he meant that quite as literally as it turned out. He was about halfway down the boulder's face when he lost his grip. At that point, the boulder wasn't quite vertical, so instead of falling, he started to slide. He hit the ground hard and rolled backwards. Panicked, I rushed over. "Are you OK?"
He held up his hands, raw and bleeding, and forced himself to breathe deeply. "A little scraped, and a little scared. Other than that, I'm not too bad. You?"
"I'm OK." I couldn't help laughing with relief.
"Good." He got to his feet. "Where's that mark? Let's get going."
I led him around the rocks to where my mark pointed into the woods. "What's this for, anyways?"
"That's the way we're going." He started walking briskly up the hill, following the direction of the mark.
I hurried after him. "But why? What's this direction?"
"You'll see."
I stopped dead in my tracks. "No. Answer my question. I'm sick of hearing, 'you'll see,' and 'later' and 'you're not ready.' I want to know now."
He stopped, looked back at me, opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, and then turned around and kept walking.
I couldn't believe what he had just done. For a moment, I stood there, gaping. Then, I turned and rushed after him, grabbing him by the shoulder, and spinning him around to face me. "What's the big deal? Why is it so hard to answer my questions? Why do you always have to be so mysterious?"
He looked at me quizzically. "What's your favorite color?"
"Huh?"
"Your favorite color. What is it?"
"My favorite color?"
"Yeah."
"Blue. I guess?" I didn't know what to say. I had no idea why he was asking.
"Hmm. Mine's black." With that, he turned, and began hurrying up the hill again, ignoring my puzzlement. Shaking my head in disbelief, I hurried after him.