Thomas Kinkade Bridge of Hope

Thomas Kinkade Bridge of HopeEdward Hopper SummertimeEdward Hopper Night Windows
waist and swung the rucksack over his shoulder.
"Well, are you ready now?" said that sarcastic voice.
"Yes. I'll explain if you like, but you don't seem very interested."
"Oh, I find whatever you do a source of perpetual fascination. But never mind me. What are you going to say to these people who are coming?"
Will looked around, startled. Farther down the trail, a long way down, there was a line of travelers with packhorses, making their way steadily up toward the lake. They hadn't seen him yet, but if he stayed where he was, they would soon.decided, he'd stop.
He'd heard little from the angel. From time to time Balthamos had said, "Not that way," or "There is an easier path to the left," and he'd accepted the advice; but really he was moving for the sake of moving, and to keep away from those travelers, because until the other angel came back with more news, he might as well have stayed where they were.Will gathered up his father's cloak, which he'd laid over a rock in the sun. It weighed much less now that it was dry. He looked around: there was nothing else he could carry."Let's go farther on," he said.He would have liked to retie the bandage, but it could wait. He set off along the edge of the lake, away from the travelers, and the angel followed him, invisible in the bright air.Much later that day they came down from the bare mountains onto a spur covered in grass and dwarf rhododendrons. Will was aching for rest, and soon, he