The sun hung like a milky veil over the trees as we stumbled out of the bus.
Gravel crunched under our shoes, voices echoed between the red roofs of the youth hostel.
Somewhere a door slammed, a dog barked in the distance.
The scent of damp wood and lake wafted toward us, cool and fresh, almost as if the air wanted to cleanse us.
I gripped the handle of my suitcase so tightly that my fingers turned white.
Fiona tugged at my arm, grinning from ear to ear.
"See? Not so bad."
She pointed to the main building – a long structure with green shutters, half-engulfed by ivy.
Next to it was a small courtyard with wooden benches and a clothesline fluttering in the wind.
"Smells like wet socks and adventure," I murmured.
"Perfect," she said, as if that were a seal of approval.
The teacher stood on the first step of the stairs and clapped her hands.
"Quiet please! First, we'll assign rooms. Two-person rooms, as on the list. No swapping without my permission!"
