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Cows raised their muzzles out of the grass and regarded him.

Cars that passed gave him all the berth.

Man at the petrol station.

Wonder if you could tell me what day this is.

Gave me such an unreal look.

Bought milk.

Drinking it as I sat on a railing of the bridge.

Frail hopeful lunatic tipping the carton to quiet his stomach.

Road into town.

People passing in the street turned to look at him.

Rest on a bench in front of the church.

Drunk on milk.

Before entering an inn I hesitate outside.

Who is this that cometh out of the wilderness?

Innkeeper with his green apron.

Ask about spending the night and he studies me first from head to toe.

Twelve marks including breakfast.

Come into the parlour, sir.

Old low-roofed room with a great beam across the middle of the ceiling and benches with high backs to them.

Gave me some lemonade.

Dark bread, plentiful cheese and butter.

Coffee service with cups and cream pitcher and a sugar bowl.

Conducted to his chamber.

Hot bath.

Up to the elbows with red patches and sores.

So thin his teeth hurt.

Lay down and a dead sleep closed on him.

Sun was up so high when I waked.

Grateful for a day of rest.

Hearty meal.

Baskets of hot loaves, great yellow blocks of butter, strings of sausages, mountains of potatoes.

Ate until he couldn’t any more.

Slept more.

Stars were coming out when I woke.

Nothing about but the wind and the silence.

Empty mind of sleep.

Day to day.

Recovering his strength.

Bought socks and underwear.

Hickory shirt.

Pair of understandin’s.

Treading it slowly.

Edge of the town.

Crossed the river just above the pool by some stepping stones.

On up the hillside.

Every day I tried another path.

Across the hillocks and vales.

Up fells and screes.

Down into the oaks.

Sometimes a shepherd’s hut or a distant man walking.

Grey roofs of the farmsteadings.

Most of the time I was alone.

Air was thick.

Stones crack in the frosty night.

On the pond swims a membrane of ice.

Whispering snow.

Fell all night and the next day.

Nothing to do but sleep.

Glass of mild and bitter and sit down by a table near the fire.

Smoke if you had anything to smoke and think if you had anything to think about.

Sky slowly grew lighter.

Broke new.

Walked up the hill.

Snow which had not yet felt the foot of man.

Looks out over the snowy rooftops of the town to the snowy moor.

White and grey of the mountains.

Them rocks somewhere.

Body had been found.

Shepherd cried out in amazement.

Way from his cabin to the sheepfold.

Crook in his hand.

Final step.

Visit the scene.

Confront the shepherd.