The hare appeared at dusk, when the moor was the colour of a bruise.
Edmund Ashworth found it caught in the gorse beside the old shepherd's track. It was white—unnaturally white, like paper held to a candle—and its right hind leg was not flesh but something else. Silver. Articulated. The way a watchmaker's creation might be if a watchmaker had never seen a living thing. Edmund knelt. The hare did not struggle. Its eyes were closed, and its silver leg twitched in...
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