"Keep to the road," the man at the pub said. He would not look up from his glass. "Keep to the road and stay off the moor."
So naturally they went on the moor.
It was the quiet that got them first — no sheep, no birds, just the wind combing the heather and a moon coming up fat and yellow over the drystone wall. Then a sound from somewhere off to the left, low and long, and then the same sound from the right, which is when the arithmetic went bad.
It came out of the dark at a dead run and it was not shaped like anything that ought to run.
They found one of them by morning. The other one they found in October, and he was still walking, and he was very sorry about all of it.
