After church on a miserable, grey Sunday, the three of us set off into the forest in search of an old ruin. As the rain turned to snow and then back again and our toes and fingers threatened frost bite, we wandered through an ancient cemetery and along a crumbling fortress wall. Nestled among the trees stood a small chapel, built in honour of some nuns who had escaped captors in the Middle Ages after hiding under a rock slab on that very spot. The chapel itself was still in use, hauntingly tidy and silent. The refuge under the rock slab still exists, untouched.
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