Waves of haar rolled in on the witching wind. Evening birdsong died away. For the first time ever he dared take her hand and she held his tighter than he had ever hoped. In silence they stood and walked away, glad of the quiet mist. Tomorrow the sun would shine.
Billy peered through the haze at the fading letter Q on his brother’s front door. The haar had rolled in in September and never burnt away. The sun, when it was, was thin and white. Billy peered, but did not stop.
They had shared a mother and a father but never shared ambitions. Billy had grown up to see the litany of lost opportunities and lies and his brother take the other road.
Crows chattered. The thin grey mist muffled the sound of the celebratory gun. Billy shivered and peered and caught his breath but did not stop.