‘She must have been here for some hours.’ The voice did not stir the butterfly quiet of her thoughts.
‘She’s been beaten over the head, probably with that wood!’ The voice nodded towards a Birch stake lying beside her.
‘A good looking bird, even like that. Led some bloke up the garden path, I reckon.’ said a second voice.
‘Elementary my dear Watson.’ and then there was a coarse chuckle. ‘Come on, lets get the poor bitch to Hospital.’
‘Is that wise?’ asked the second voice, ‘Yer know what the Police can be like, asking all sorts of questions.’
‘Bollocks to you man!’ replied the first voice, ‘And bring that wood! The coppers will want it… And fetch the dog!’
Palms of salvation closed in around Esme’s mind like gentle Willow leaves. She was lifted and half carried over the Gorse ground to voices that puffed and groaned in simple gossamer.