November story - #5

Beyond the sea in the east, the sun climbed over the horizon, flooding the empty moorland with colour. The colour was brown. The land was broken, broken by the hand of man. For many generations, the top layer had been stripped away for fuel, to heat the homes of the villages to the north. And still, many miles of untouched moorland awaited the generations to come. The last village had been left behind an hour before and the straight track continued south. Gently, the landscape changed as another valley merged in from the south and some habitation crept into view. Houses - except they were only half-sized. Scattered over a sward of green, along the line of a small stream that gabbled its way to the sea. The track ended abruptly at a stone bridge across the stream; a path climbed up the far side. Far out at sea, a small boat could be seen, making its way towards the small bay which welcomed the stream to the bosom of the sea. It had taken its time to cover the four miles from Cealagbhal.

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