A dead weight. This was what they meant. This solid, unaccommodating mass of body, the moving of which dragged at the arms, made the back ache and sent boots slipping on the uneven fellside, threatening to tip the living on top of the deceased.
Another couple of heaves. Closer to the vehicle now. A quick breather, head twisting, checking for witnesses. There were none. Just the bare hillside rising up beneath a darkening sky. And the bird, high overhead, majestic. A peregrine falcon, making a last couple of sorties before settling for the night.
One more effort, rolling the lifeless form into the rear, the vehicle sagging under its sudden load. A slam of metal as the boot closed, shockingly loud in the evening silence. Then the cough of an engine, the rumble of tyres on hard-packed track, and the peace returned.
Overhead, the falcon did a lazy loop, the dying sun catching its wings and turning them into a shimmering brilliance. Down below, the shadows claimed the land, creeping over it, stealing all colours, until even the vivid smear of blood on grass could no longer be seen.