A mountain by any other name...

The redhead steps down from the stagecoach, gazing at the rough-hewn frontier town ahead of her, drawing her cloak around her as the bitter winter wind greets her. Mais, fait-i, fré, ogniet [But isn't it cold today] …. She hopes the welcome she receives is not so chilly … Vère dja, mais pas tant comme hiaer [Oh yes, but not as cold as yesterday] …

She wonders to herself if it was the right decision to come here… to start over … but it is too late for doute.

Where she should even begin? something to eat, perhaps…. Then enquire about available properties. Yes, that is it, she thinks. Make introductions, settle in, get to work, put my mind to other things…

Later in the day, she is standing before an empty building in a quiet corner of town by the river, imagining the interior adorned with lace curtains, Oriental rugs, racks of rich fabrics and... rows of dresses. An abundance of gowns. She had seen the attire of some of the ladies in town as she made her way down the street with her new landlord. I have my work cut out for me, she mused.

But what to call this place? She stood in silent contemplation for some time. As her eyes lifted to the stark hills surrounding her, her mind wandered back to a time and place on another continent, where she could see dark peaks rising out of the earth with the same kind of defiance.

Ah... Montagne Noire [Black Mountain], she said out loud, the sound of her voice drifting off into the hills. She smiled to herself as she turned to make her way back to Main Street. There were so many things to do now.