The fields spread around them, a tapestry of greens and mustards, furrows and bare trees. Pale deer leapt in the distance, they disappeared between a dense sweep of blue-grey bushes, whose small leaves flickered in the sinking winter sun. They looked towards a high hill, the bracken and heather were almost golden this late in the afternoon, and it shone around the broken house which had somehow kept standing at its summit. Kicking back the heaps of narrow autumn leaves, they made their way across the ditch and onto the path that would lead them across the country, and to the old house.
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