Photo: Sue Vincent
“I wonder how many had spent a night in this place through the centuries.”
Dennis looked up from his walking boots. The laces had knotted and he was adamant about untangling them without cutting, even though he had a spare. Mirna’s chin rested on a palm propped on an elbow, the remainder of her body already cocooned in her puffy neon orange sleeping bag.
“You look like a giant orange slug,” he smiled.
“Oh, but thank you!” she giggled, wriggling playfully. “I’ve always wanted to achieve slug proportions.”
“I bet thousands upon thousands,” Dennis added.
He gestured with his head at the space that sheltered them. The ancient stones still fitting together after multitudes of years.
“Yeah,” Mirna sighed. She turned onto her belly and peered out through the mossy rectangular opening. The moors stretched, bleak, to the horizon. As the day waned, the vista…
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