“Oh well.” I said, “at least I haven’t ruined a good pair of shoes.”We started shovelling and soon got a visit from a big pig.“Hit it with...your shovel.” Beaver said as it got very close to me.I did, on its rear end, and it turned and looked up at me then turned and walked away.“Did it’s backside go red like yours does when it gets spanked?” Beaver asked.“No, well I don’t think so, I wasn’t looking.” I replied.We carried on and when the barrow was full I tried to lift the handles but. I couldn’t move, stranded there on my log. The forest to hide, yet no place concealed. Then a footstep. Another. And a whisper, soothing, still. Almost…peaceful? I dared not move. A hand rested on my tense shoulder. It was covered in black leather and surprisingly rather small. So this, the rider as I assumed, did exist. And, least of all, had touched me. I knew I was dead, yet surprisingly sat peaceful. Through the trees the moon broke, soft and pale at first; then, striking something silver. More

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