“She’s old, your Tina,” the lady said as she got off the bus. “You want to get her a coat for the cold weather.”

“Not Tina,” I said. “She’s a proper Yorkshire dog, tough as old boots.”

The third bus was nearly empty by the time we got off.

“Where you two lads off to, then?” the driver asked us as the doors opened with a sigh. He was one of those little fat men that you always think is going to be jolly and friendly. But this one’s face was all screwed up as if he’d just bitten into a bad pie. I suppose there must be a lot of pressure on you to be jolly when you look like a Christmas pudding with legs. You’d need to be strong to resist all that and still be grumpy.

“We’re off to see larks,” Kenny said. “We’ve got cheese and jam sandwiches. And pop.”

“Aye, well, watch yourselves,” the driver replied. “It’s gonna be filthy up top.”

He used a fat finger to point up towards the treeless hills.

“You’re not dressed for it, neither,” he added.

“We’ll be fine,” I said. “There’s a footpath.”

The bus driver nodded. “Stick to it.”

Three

Three

The footpath was a five‑minute walk from the bus stop. You couldn’t miss it. There was a stone wall with a gap in it, and a green sign that said PUBLIC FOOTPATH, just like my dad had told us.

I had a funny feeling as we left the road and started out on the path. One second there were cars and lorries thundering by, and the next you were in a different world. The stone walls were like the remains of ruined castles, and the black trees were monsters, frozen by the spells of a good wizard. It was almost like when you start reading a book, and from the moment you open it, you live there and not in the real world.

There was no sign of a lark. The only birds we saw were big black crows flying slowly and alone over the fields.

“I thought we might see Rooky,” Kenny said.

Kenny was talking about the rook we’d rescued from getting eaten by a sparrowhawk last year. We’d cared for it for a while, then taken it to an animal refuge. We were there when they released it back into the wild. It was the second animal we’d saved. The year before that we looked after a baby badger. Caring for the animals probably helped us more than it helped them.

“I think it’s a bit bleak up here for rooks,” I said. “They’re softies, really. Rooks like it down on the farms where the fields get ploughed and there’s lots of beetles and worms for them. Up here is crow country.”

“I don’t like crows,” Kenny said. “They always look pissed off.”