A doorway, a pattern, a pause

The passage was narrow enough to make us walk one behind another. For once, my map could not tell me more than my feet. Lu Cia paused where the shade ended. Colombine called it a doorway worth drawing. I turned back and decided that being a little behind was an excellent place to look.
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Under the repeating arches, we grew quiet without agreeing to. I tried to count them and lost my place. Colombine drew just one, then stopped to look again. Lu Cia tilted her face toward the light. In my notebook, I replaced a number with a curve. It seemed more useful.
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I announced that we had fallen behind the plan. Lu Cia opened the pastry bag as if this were precisely what the plan required. Around us, the tiled bench offered more patterns than Colombine could fit on a page. We stayed until the crumbs were gone. I did not record how long that took.
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From the overlook, the city gathered itself into a shape small enough to hold in our eyes. Colombine closed her sketchbook. Lu Cia leaned on the warm stone. I wrote the list of things we had missed, crossed it out, and began again with the things that had found us.
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