The Farmyard.

It was just an old scrap of material probably a scarf that had been dropped as a woman had run from the rain. But the large dogs were now sniffing around where I had found the material. Two of the dogs were now digging and tugging at a small sack that was sticking out from the hole that they had now dug. I shouted at them to stop this, they ceased and came bounding toward me, their faces muddy and wet, the rain was beginning to fall, the droplets dripping down my neck. I placed the piece of material in my coat pocket and turned to go back to the farmhouse. Where I had then stayed for three days.

I had been walking on the Moors, on my holiday. I had taken the five dogs out for a walk on the lonely walk. I had been staying at a disused farmhouse, with a friendly farmer and his wife.

The Moors seemed eerie, the clouds were black, and a mist was forming. I thought about the material, also the sack poking out of the hole. I remembered the dead sheep I saw in the field as I went p the long, winding hill towards the stone buildings of the farmhouse. The sheep had been lying on its side and was definitely dead for it was motionless and blood flowed from its head.

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Now I started running the dogs ran beside me. I placed my footsteps down carefully in an effort not to fall down on the uneven surfaces, which surrounded me. I was now approaching the farmhouse. Reaching into my pockets I pulled out the keys to the cottage. Pushing them into the lock, I rushed in the dogs followed. Slamming the door, I fell into a chair nearest to the log fire. It was very warm and comforting. Still in the back of my mind, I thought of the mysterious sack.

I reached into my pocket, and pulled out the material. ...

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