If we go from here we’ll never come back. I do not speak to tell her what my mind fashions and my thoughts revolve. Why should I vex her with the thoughts that plague my unquiet head? I did not realize she was so much wiser than I, till now. It’s best to go, it’s wise; but I alone would never go. She’d go; I led her amiss when I brought her here. Or did we behave well when we fled and came here? Have I misled—oh hush, hush, mad head that seeks and seeks for certainty, finding none. It’s best to go.

She came to my side.

‘We were happy here,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ I answered with an effort to be calm. ‘We were happy.’

‘Are you sad to leave?’ she whispered.

I nodded, I could not speak.

‘It’s best to go,’ I said a moment later.

‘Best to go,’ she echoed. ‘We’re human folk, Hugh. Our place is with our fellows. We can’t forsake them just to keep ourselves safe.’

I am glad we are going. I see the road we were bound on, that same way trod by the men whose work, smashed relics of living men, lies decaying in the valley. All fated and tied to destruction. Destruction battens on the men who feed it. I lusted for this creature’s death. If he died then, not in our hammock, where could I escape? He was as light as a feather in my arms.

Terry burns with pity. Rage and fear live intertwined, to have compassion and lend aid is the only shield that fear will not strike down. I am not afraid. Nothing worse can happen to us than the fate which dogs us every day we quit our cave to hunt for food. Though we meet fate now we face it without dread. We are victors over fate when we choose well, though it destroy us.

11 OCTOBER

IT IS WEARING on to dusk and we are ready to go. We have been hard at work since early morning. Immediately it was light I went for the haunches of the stag I killed on Meall nan Eacan. I could not go yesterday. Terry boiled the venison to carry with us. We have a heavy load to take. Who’d imagine we’d collect so much stuff together into this cave?

Terry is flushed and excited like a girl. We are leaving our diary behind us. Its use is past. I made the last scratch on our wall deep and long to signify an end.

Moments of departure are narrow doors, small portals to the limitless void. We are careless of to-morrow. We know we are going rightly; we carry that safeguard with us wherever we venture. We have been very careful here, planning each day’s work in advance, regulating our hours. And happy too.