There was no way to tell what kind of a morning it would be… except that it had turned cold. Yesterday’s sunshine had been a feint, designed to instil a false sense of security and the rain had a suspicious solidity as it fell to earth.
Dawn hadn’t yet begun to smudge the horizon, a tawny owl called eerily in the gloom and small things skittered unseen through the undergrowth. The small dog, no more than a patch of darker blackness in the shadows, had found a scent and refused to come back before she had investigated. Puddles crunched beneath my feet as I followed her into the little wood.
The darkness deepened. No frost here in the shelter of the trees, but the mud sucked at my shoes, reluctant to release each footfall. Twigs and stubborn leaves brushed my face, catching in my hair, skeletal fingers and unseen hands…
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