The wind came down off the moors every morning at four, carrying...

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2026-06-06 06:28:42 -

The wind came down off the moors every morning at four, carrying with it the damp wool smell of sheep and the iron tang of peat smoke. Eleanor Gray felt it through the thin walls of her attic room,...

Jasper would have loved the moors. She could imagine him: a great shaggy head thrust through the kitchen window, rain matting the fur between his ears, tongue lolling in that ridiculous, joyous grin of his. He was a Scottish deerhound, or had been bred from one, though no one in the house called him anything so grand. He was a dog. He was hers. She remembered the morning they had found him,...

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