Jeremiah leaned against the black metal gate with his arms folded and a disinterested look on his face. The village loomed a quarter of a mile behind him, across the fields and almost tucked out of sight by the crest of a hill. A gust hit me in the chest and sneaked through whatever gaps it could find in my clothes. It didn’t make a difference. The chill I felt from my talk with Clive filled me with a coldness that layers and heat couldn’t change. It was a burden that made me feel a stone heavier now than when we had walked into the retirement home. Sheep chewed grass in the fields adjacent to us. Some of them lay down, bunching together to shelter from the cold. It was a large field but the sheep had decided to stick to one half of it, and what should have been a sparse plot of land was covered in one half by chewed grass and the other by woolly creatures. At the other end of the field, I saw why they avoided one side of it. On the grass, across from a wooden turnstile, was a dead sheep.
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