[ His Horizon is tucked away just past Jill’s, a small island with an ever present threat of thunder in the distance, the grey of the clouds casting a cool tone over the greens and browns that make up the foliage. The rookery itself is buried in those leaves, run down but no less loved despite its apparent decline. This is the place Clive would always come as a child to be on his own and it’s become that place for him here, though he’s yet to prevent anyone from visiting should they choose to do so.
Torgal, fully grown, is chasing rabbits through the tall grass, and Clive is seated under a tree, well worn copy of the Saint and the Sectary in hand. It’s the one place he can be keenly unaware of his surroundings, and Torgal’s barking barely registers, he’s so used to the hound barking at his ever elusive prey.
But there’s a different reason for it — Torgal has noticed first, and he comes running out of the grass, speeding towards he beach, and that’s what gets Clive’s attention, and he stands up, calling out: ]
no subject
Torgal, fully grown, is chasing rabbits through the tall grass, and Clive is seated under a tree, well worn copy of the Saint and the Sectary in hand. It’s the one place he can be keenly unaware of his surroundings, and Torgal’s barking barely registers, he’s so used to the hound barking at his ever elusive prey.
But there’s a different reason for it — Torgal has noticed first, and he comes running out of the grass, speeding towards he beach, and that’s what gets Clive’s attention, and he stands up, calling out: ]
Torgal! What’s gotten into you?