Eight
‘Are you just going to let it hover there all night?’ Derek asked while the three of them ate their evening meal outside facing the barn. Between themselves and the barn was the flying disc that may or may not have been named The Magpie. It depended who was asked.
When neither of the boys answered him, Derek went back to finishing off his plate and enjoying the peace of the evening. Benjamin sipped at stout and Herbert at a cup of tea, his dowsing rods sat on his lap. All three of them were preoccupied with the display of anti-gravity in front of them, while behind that the June sun lit the hills around them with an evening wash of golden hues.
Benjamin set his empty glass down to a hollow sound on the cobblestones. ‘She does look pretty sat there,’ he said, satisfied.
Derek look
