“ Presque là” whispered my cousin. 

 “ Almost there”

“ Je sais, je sais” I whispered back.

     “ I know, I know”

The sounds of feet on old stone stairs echoed through the tower, raging with sound. Tall windows were only revealing the bright afternoon light. Squinting, the stairs led to a clearing, caged with the tall castle walls. I grasped the walls, hoisting myself up to see. 

And just like that, the world that I had once stood upon was below me. The tall, stone-bricked castles were nestled into the green hills, standing proudly with dignity. The sky was painted light blue above the green field sprinkled with golden rolls of hay. Small little clusters of houses were grouped together in small villages here and there. 

Right through the middle flowed the great Dordogne River, stretching for miles, the sun glistening on the water. There were two kayaks, as small as ants, floating along with the strong current of the river. 

All I saw was all I loved, looking out from the tallest tower in the castle. I was proud of this place. Proud that I could be here. Proud that this was my home.