We floundered into hags which grew more broken and treacherous as we advanced. My help was more hindrance than aid to Terry. There was so much jumping and turning to be done that while I kept hold of her hand I did but trail her into bogs which were best gone round. She clung to me and I dared not try to free myself in case she gave up heart altogether. Her face was grey, mire covered her from head to foot, she fell over tussocks and stumbled into slimy pits. I was in as bad a case. My side was bleeding and my legs trembled under me when they took my weight after I jumped. I grew dizzy with staring at the ground before my feet. When one treads a maze the mind grows dull, bemused by concentration; to go round an obstacle requires more strength of will than the weary mind can resolve; taking each step in dread, we went straight forward over the mire, descending into peaty canyons to climb their far banks on our hands and knees, dragging our feet through sloughs we should have avoided, travelling ever more slowly to the remote shore.

It was like a nightmare that repeats itself. Even when we arrived on firm ground we acted as if we were still floundering in the moss. But in a few yards we reached a stream and flung ourselves down to drink. The place where we lay was firm; I have never felt greater comfort than I had in that instant when I found the stones and turf of the burn’s side under me.

I searched the darkening hills for our enemies, but saw nothing to make us start and run. The wind was shrill. We heard it sounding in the Durc like waves on a shore.

‘We should have been there,’ I said.

‘Where are we going, Hugh?’ Terry breathed. ‘It’s getting dark.’

‘A little farther,’ I answered. ‘Give me your hand, we’ll be safe and warm soon.’

‘It’s cold,’ she said. Her teeth chattered violently.

‘It’s blowing up for snow,’ I said. ‘Come, Terry, we must reach Loch Ericht before night—just a little longer, honey, and we’ll have fire, and food, and shelter.’

10 OCTOBER

THE SNOW IS melting fast; there’s still heat in the sun. But it’s not a proper thaw. The air is cold behind the sun, and icicles grow in the shadow.

We’ve felt all the seasons while we lived here. Spring when we came, summer to make us glad, painted autumn—today is winter, time to go before our road is closed. When I shut my eyes I can see winter filling our gorge with drifted snow, the world all blurred with drift.

I forced Terry to leave the cave for a while and breathe fresh air and see the glittering hills; morning painted their snowy summits. Stags were roaring close at hand.