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Despite wearing two pullovers, hat and scarf, Ralph shivered as the cold cut through into the very heart of his bones. The stench in Ben Riever’s cottage, a mix of damp and decaying flesh, proved too much and he went outside for some fresh air. He peered across the Moor, the blackness bringing a kind of solace, a sense of comfort.
Without thinking, he wandered all the way around the desolate building, kicking at the ground. After one complete circuit, he leaned against the wall and looked out into the night to study the way the deep shadows gave the Moor an eerie, preternatural mood. It really was like a living thing, he mused. Forever changing, never still, in the blink of an eye becoming soft, inviting, then hard and cruel. Either way he loved it. He closed his eyes and put his head
