I’m sitting on the ground, next to you, our shoulders leaning, our thighs touching, breathing hard. We’ve just climbed here, up this hill to see an ancient castle ruin, you leading, me holding on, following, matching each of your steps. When the way narrows I fall in behind, holding on to your backpack. We must look an odd couple. Conjoined. You always in front – me behind, a potential power imbalance. But we’ve always known this, been aware and if the only thing we ever did was walk it might be a problem.

We unpack the food.

The castle had been beautiful, broken. We’d walked up worn weathered stairs, one-by-one, slowly circling inside the old rounded tower, my hands navigating, brushing over rough pitted stones, smelling of old smoke fires. No roof to shield us as we peeped through long-slitted windows, made for arrows. The castle is behind us now, and apart from you and I there is no one.

We put our sandwich box away.

The air’s heavy with moisture, I can taste it. Above, birds call to each other, and all around the sound of melt water trickling, dancing its way down. Illuminating this landscape. I can tell from the rushing stream below that we’re a long way up, can place the neighbouring hills from the waters that cascade down them. And as I identify each new layer of sound the view comes into focus.

Soon we will make our way back.

Title: The View
Materials: Earth, stone, water
Mandy Redvers-Rowe is a writer and director