Eleanor Jones - Shadow On The Fells

Cool air filled his nostrils and he took a gulp of it, savoring the silence even as he realized that it wasn’t silent at all, not really. In the city there was always sound, sound that you no longer noticed after a while, the busy, constant hum of traffic, the honking of a hundred angry horns, the buzz of human voices. And here there was sound in the silence, too, different kinds of sounds: the scream of a buzzard, the song of the wind as it whispered and wailed, and the bleating of the rough fell sheep that wandered the steep slopes in their constant quest for food.

He could see a flock of them on the hillside, trickling downward with two dogs to guide them. He stopped to watch, intrigued by the way the dogs worked as a team, dropping to the ground and then creeping forward again before rushing to turn the flock if they headed in the wrong direction. It was all overseen by the shepherd, who gave low whistles and shouted commands in a loud, clear voice that carried across the distance in the thin air.

Calling to Max, who was now intent on digging beneath a rock, Will headed closer, watching the sheep and dogs, and ignoring the dull ache in his calves and the discomfort of his damp feet. He realized, suddenly, that the shepherd was a woman, a tall, straight-backed woman who strode confidently across the rough and rocky ground, a long crook in her hand. She wore blue skinny jeans and sturdy brown boots, and a thick blond braid hung almost to her waist. There was something about her that moved him. He supposed it was the timelessness of the way she strode the earth, commanding the dogs with confidence and certainty just as her ancestors must have done before her.

Ahead, the ground fell away, dipping steeply. As he headed down the slope, Will lost sight of the woman with her dogs and sheep. With a lurch of disappointment, he turned back to call Max again, surprised by his own eagerness to watch her work the dogs some more. Come to think of it, he hadn’t felt much eagerness or excitement about anything of late, not even buying and then moving into Craig Side; that had just felt like a necessity. The communication between the woman and her collies was something else, though, something he had never experienced before. Strangely, it humbled him.

Another yell at Max, and the dog finally gave up his frantic digging and raced to catch up, so excited by the unfamiliar scents and sounds that, all reason lost, he bounded right past Will and down the slope, leaping over the stream in the bottom of the shallow ravine.

“Max! Come here!” he called, his voice echoing. The big dog paused and looked back at him, wagging his plumed tail as if about to obey...until a high-pitched whistle sounded and the sheep let out several bleats. Then, totally ignoring his master’s urgent commands, Max took off up the slope on the other side and disappeared from view.

Will’s heart sank when he heard the woman’s angry cries. He started to run, ignoring the burning in his lungs and the ache in his calves.

“Stupid dog,” he groaned, unable to hear anything but the rasping of his own breath as he headed for the patch of clear sky at the top of the steep incline.

She was standing farther up the hillside, bright blue eyes blazing against her lightly tanned skin, two bright spots of angry color in her cheeks. “Get out of it!” she yelled, madly waving her crook. “Get away!”

Following her gaze, Will saw Max leaping toward the sheep, oblivious to everything else, barking with excitement as they started to scatter. The woman gave a long, low whistle and her two sheepdogs sank to the ground in total obedience, staring up at her with adoration. Will felt like a fool, totally out of his depth and unsure of what to do. He wasn’t used to feeling inadequate—angry, perhaps, and sickened by life, but in control...always in control.

“Max, come here,” he tried to yell, but the words couldn’t seem to get past his throat. Taking a gulp of air, he tried again as the sheep began to flee in a dozen directions. “Max, here! Now!”

CHAPTER THREE

BEFORE THE CRAZY dog appeared, Chrissie had been feeling good, gazing fondly down on High Bracken, glad to be almost home with the gathering done for another year.

An unexpected rush of nostalgia had brought tears to her eyes as she remembered all the times she’d herded the sheep with her dad. He used to point out things of interest as they traversed the huge expanse of steep fellside: a dog fox observing their progress, a peregrine falcon swooping down to grab a smaller bird in its lethal talons and then dropping to the ground to boldly pluck its catch.

This was a place where only the strong survived, and she had to be strong, too—that was what her father had always taught her, and she still tried so hard to follow his advice.

An outlying sheep took her attention then, bringing her train of thought back to the job at hand; it was moving farther away from the flock, intent on escape. She whistled sharply to Fly. The dog caught her eye, eager to follow her command.

“Come way out,” she called with a sweep of her arm, and the small blue-gray and black dog was on it, calmly persuading the reluctant ewe to return to the flock with the patience and expertise that had made him a champion at the sheepdog trials last year.

It was as she’d turned her attention back to the main flock that the fluffy, cream-colored creature had burst into view, leaping up over the edge of the shallow ravine and racing toward them. For a fleeting second she’d thought it was a wayward sheep...and now she saw how wrong she’d been.

“No! Get away!” Chrissie screamed again, waving her crook madly as the big crazy dog continued to leap and bound amid her animals. One sheep had already disappeared from view, but she had to get things under control with the flock before she could check on it.

Tess and Fly sped at the dangerous usurper, but Chrissie stopped them with a low whistle; the last thing she wanted was for her dogs to go haywire, too. That would really freak the sheep out. But it made no difference. The collies raced around the scattering sheep, trying to keep them contained, but the sheeps’ survival instincts had kicked in and they fled in panic, their pregnant bellies swaying.

The fluffy cream dog, on the other hand, was in his element, running this way and that, barking madly. She yelled at it, screaming into the wind to no avail.

That was when she saw the man.

A hot flood of anger consumed her as he hurried over, a tall, dark-haired stranger dressed in city clothes. He was obviously responsible for this disaster. His face was bright red from climbing the hill and his breath came in loud gasps.

“Get your dog away from my sheep!” Chrissie yelled. “Now.”

With a brief glance in her direction, the man carried on in a shambling run toward the flock, spooking them almost as much as his dog. Chrissie watched helplessly as sheep disappeared in every direction. She whistled madly to her collies, but she would have needed half a dozen dogs to keep the terrified creatures together.

“Max!” cried the man. “Max! Bad dog. Come here.”

The dog ignored him, but as it ran by he managed to grab hold of its collar. For a moment, they struggled. The dog bucked against his confinement and the man staggered forward. If they hadn’t been in such a desperate situation, Chrissie would have laughed as he sprawled to the ground, still holding on to the broad leather collar.

But despondency instantly replaced the momentary flicker of humor. She whistled to Tess and Fly to come back, and they raced over immediately, dropping down in front of her, pink tongues hanging from the sides of their mouths and their bright eyes eager for their mistress’s next command. With the cream-colored dog in the man’s grasp, the sheep had calmed somewhat, but at best she would be spending the rest of the afternoon gathering the ones that had scattered. At worst...well, she didn’t want to think about that just yet.