I looked back. Behind me the moonlit sea glowed like silver. The little islands of mud showed black in the darkness like a model of a landscape, not the real thing. I could see the fist of the land around the village of Selsey as it stuck out into the sea, and further to the west were other sludgy promontories of land, little points where we had halted in our slow progress to this damned county where Dandy had gone up to fly once too often, and I had been too slow and too great a fool to stop her. Sea turned his grey head to look down the road we had climbed and blew out through his nostrils as if he were impressed at the distance we had already travelled. I did not know where he thought he was going. I did not know where I thought I was going. I had not the energy or the ability to think of it. Due north seemed a good enough direction, and this lane was pleasant riding and the countryside quiet. I clicked softly to him and he turned his head and walked on.

We went along the crest of the hill in a beautiful clear sweep and then the track started to drop down towards the valley on the other side. It looped and turned in hairpin bends in an effort to make the track easier for coach horses. I thought one might get a light coach up the hill in summer, but nothing too heavy. Nothing in winter at all. I guessed the road would be a quagmire of pale chalky mud by then. Something in the idea of that colour of pale chalky mud made my mind stop still, and made me think where I had seen thick creamy mud before. But it was gone before I had time to catch at it.

Sea walked faster as we started down the steeper slopes, then he tossed his head a bit and tried a few paces of a trot, his back legs slipping and sliding. I steadied him with a touch on the reins. I could not be troubled to tighten the reins and rise for a trot. I could not be bothered with his change of pace. He slackened off when he felt my unwillingness and walked steadily in the moonlight again.