Papa raised an eyebrow, but he couldn't help the small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

Peter reached out and took Tima for a moment, lifting her high above his head so she could see over the misty fields. Her feet kicked wildly.

"You've got one job," he told her solemnly. "Look cute and keep morale up."

"She's got two jobs," Steph corrected, strapping on her pack. "Look cute, and hold on to her socks."

Tima immediately kicked one off.

"Hopeless," Peter said, kissing her cheek as he handed her back to Papa. "You'll be fine."

He adjusted Papa's strap with a practiced tug, then stepped back and nodded.

"Bring me back a stone," Peter said.

Papa looked at him. "A stone?"

"Yeah," Peter said, already walking toward the cottage door. "One with a story in it."

Tima gurgled in agreement, gripping Papa's hoodie string like it held the secrets of the mountain.

The mist began to lift, just slightly, as they turned toward the car.

Just about 6 hours later that included a few stops for snacks and changes, they pulled into the carpark directly opposite the Snowdon Mountain Railway station in the village of Llanberis, aiming for the Llanberis Path up the mountain.

The gravel crunched softly under their boots as they started upward.

Tima rode high on Papa's chest in the soft wrap, her small hands tucked close, her hat slipping sideways as she stared at the sky with reverence. A babble escaped her lips now and then — like she was conversing with the wind or offering commentary on the clouds.

"First review is in," Steph said, glancing at her. "She says it's scenic."

Papa gave a quiet chuckle, adjusting the straps of the carrier. "Scenic and vaguely damp."

The ground was soft beneath their feet — earth still wet from the morning rain, moss thick and forgiving under their boots. The path curled upward through gorse and low scrub, the mist not quite burned away, everything existing in that grey-blue space where the world felt both enormous and intimate at once.

Steph walked ahead a few steps, her hood half-up, a little puff of condensation on her breath visible in the cold air. "She'll like the sheep. I was obsessed with them at her age."

"Obsessed?" Papa asked, ducking a branch.

"I used to wave at them like they were royalty," she replied. "Every single one. On every single walk."

Papa smiled at the thought. "How many days did that add to the hike?"

"Hours," Steph laughed. "My parents were endlessly patient. Or endlessly frustrated. One of the two."

A patch of mud caught Papa off guard, and he half-slid, catching himself with a surprised grunt. Tima squeaked in delight, clearly thrilled with the sudden lurch. She made a triumphant sound — *ehhhhh!* — as if to say: *I approve of this chaos.*

Steph turned, smirking. "Graceful."