Chapter 5
Gabriel took his father’s walking stick from its familiar place by the door, the worn wood fitting easily into his palm. The weight of it steadied him. He wondered, not for the first time, when something stopped being borrowed and became inherited. When care quietly turned into responsibility.
Chep padded at his heels, silent but alert, ears pricked, body taut with expectation, as though he understood the importance of this nightly ritual.
Outside, the wind tore through the narrow street. Gabriel turned up the collar of his coat as he stepped outside, the cold biting at his cheeks. He grimaced. It was darker than he’d expected.
But there was no choice.
He’d already lost too much time.
The night’s earlier chaos clung to him still, the acrid scent of smoke caught in his clothes and hair.
He’d spent hours on the hill-fire – a reckless blaze, no doubt started by someone who thought they could control it.
A “tidy-up,” they’d say. A bit of old knowledge passed down and misused.
All it took was one shift in the wind, and the hillside had gone up like tinder.
Gabriel and the others had fought it until the rain came at last – a sudden, merciful downpour that smothered the flames and spared the land from worse. Even now his muscles throbbed with the aftermath, his hands raw from tools and shovels, his lungs still tight with remembered smoke.
But rest would have to wait.
It always did.
He headed up the path leading out of the village, boots crunching against gravel as the incline steepened. Chep trotted beside him, occasionally darting ahead to sniff the air before glancing back for direction. Gabriel kept his gaze forward, his thoughts already moving ahead of his steps.
The rain had quelled the fire, but it had left the hills treacherous – slick earth eager to betray the careless.
Gabriel barely registered it. These paths were etched into him, as familiar as the lines on his hands.
He’d learned long ago that the land was never one thing for long.
Beauty and danger lived side by side here; you respected that, or you paid for it.
Chep surged ahead into the heather, lean body weaving through the dark in search of the scattered sheep.
At Gabriel’s sharp whistle, Chep froze, ears twitching, then spun back to Gabriel’s side.
Well trained. Like all the dogs his family had raised for generations.
Treat a dog right, train it properly, and it would give you everything it had.
Chep was no pampered house pet, the kind Gabriel saw so often these days, dogs groomed and pruned into accessories rather than companions. He was a worker, and tonight, Gabriel needed him more than ever.
The sheep had broken loose again. Too often now to be coincidence. And if they drifted to the cliff, he’d never forgive himself.
Gabriel had his suspicions. A disgruntled local maybe, or another farmer nursing a grudge over his work with the fire service. Burning the hills to “fertilise” the land was an old trick, but a dangerous one. Gabriel’s job was to put a stop to it. His bluntness didn’t win him many friends.
A nod in the grocer’s.
A tight smile, if that, in the pub.
It wasn’t that they hated him. Hatred required effort.
This was simpler than that – a kind of cool distance, the price of being the one who pointed out danger when others preferred tradition.
People didn’t like to be told that what their fathers had done, and their fathers before them, might no longer be safe.
Gabriel understood it, even if he didn’t agree. Understanding didn’t make it easier to stand alone on a hillside at night, stamping out flames someone else had lit and walked away from.
He didn’t dwell on it. The sheep were what mattered.
They’d scattered on the far side of the hill, thank god not towards the cliffs, their pale shapes against the deepening gloom.
Chep moved among them with precision, black-and-white blur guiding white dots into order.
Gabriel watched with quiet pride as the dog worked, responding to each whistle as though it were instinct rather than command.
He lifted his eyes to the horizon.
For a moment, a faint shimmer of light caught his attention – something pale and unnatural against the dark. And then he saw it.
A figure, standing near the cliff’s edge.
Gabriel’s chest tightened.
It was the same place he’d seen her earlier – the woman from the path, dark eyes, hair whipped wild by the wind. The memory of her startled expression surfaced, sharp and immediate.
But now the figure was little more than a silhouette.
Something was wrong.
He whistled sharply, directing Chep to drive the sheep uphill, away from the edge. If he could get them near his cottage, he’d corral them in the garden until morning. Chep responded instantly, herding the flock away, leaving Gabriel free to focus on the figure ahead.
The wind clawed at him as he climbed, yanking at his coat, flinging cold rain into his face like needles. His boots slipped on the sodden ground, each step a careful negotiation. Below it all, the sea roared, deep, relentless, and unforgiving.
He slowed as he drew closer, instinct tempering urgency. Years of callouts had taught him that rushing in could make things worse. That panic was contagious, and a raised voice at the wrong moment could tip someone over rather than pull them back.
He felt the familiar tightening in his chest, the knowledge settling in before the certainty. That sense of standing at the edge of someone else’s worst moment, knowing that whatever happened next would stay with him long after the night had passed.
He studied the figure carefully now. The stillness. The way they stood, weight pitched forward, not quite balanced. He’d seen all kinds of fear up here. This one felt different. Not panic. Something else …
He raised his voice, steady but firm, pitching it to carry through the storm.
“Come back from there,” he called. “The ground’s not steady, you won’t feel it go.”
The words landed with a jolt of familiarity.
He knew the stories too well. Some were accidents – a misstep, a sudden gust, weather turning without warning. Others were deliberate. Those were the ones that stayed with him. The coastguard called on him often enough when the hills turned deadly, and now it seemed he was facing it head-on.
He moved closer, circling wide, one hand raised in a calming gesture. The figure didn’t react. Didn’t even seem to register his presence.
Then their head snapped up.
Before Gabriel could speak again, they twisted and their footing gave way on the slick earth.
“Careful!” he shouted, heart lurching as the figure staggered.
The ground gave way beneath them – but instead of pitching forward, they fell backward, collapsing hard onto the sodden grass.
Gabriel ran, breath tearing from his chest. If they’d slipped even a few feet closer, it would have ended very differently.
He dropped into a crouch beside them.
Even in the poor light, he recognised the eyes.
Dark. Familiar. Wild with something he couldn’t yet name.
They locked on to his, glassy and unfocused.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low now, anchoring. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”