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240 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 3, 2014
He walked on behind the Priest listening to the muted melody that the breeze played across the fells and the strange harmonies it created around rocks and he heard the screech of a bird — a kestrel by the look of it — high above them. He thought he could hear running water somewhere too and then the insistent bleating of a sheep and then a few few moments later the satisfied guttural groan of a cow a long way ahead of them and then a little while after that the screech of two crows first quarreling and then tumbling together and beneath it all — undercutting it all — the scrape and swish of his oilskin; the panting of the dog and reedy raspy breathing of the Priest.
There’s no silence out here Father he finally said but because it was uttered so quietly and the Priest offered no response the Poacher wondered whether he had even spoken the words out loud at all.
Broth for the baby. Potato for herself.
Then she swapped it and gave some of the cooked potato to the baby and took some soup for herself.
Potato for the baby, broth for herself.
Potato then broth. The fire crackling.
Potato then broth. Blowing on the embers.
When the potato was done she folded the skin and put it away for later. They finished the broth.The girl scraped the tin. Contorted her tongue. Lapped at it.
The girl threw bracken onto the fire to kill the glow but not the heat.
It started smoking then but she liked the smell it made so left it a while even though it was making her eyes water.
The baby belched.
So did she.
The baby slept.
So did she.