Scarred Ground

Chapter 1

The walls were damp and the windows furred with a greenish slime. Sarann sighed and dropped the last of her few boxes on the floor, trying, and failing, to find even the smallest bright point in what was a very depressing day.
'Nineteen, divorced and unemployed' she thought bitterly. 'How could I have been so totally wrong?'
The tiny living room of her newly rented cottage smelt of damp, so she backed out, ducking under the low lintel and almost fell down the step into her slimy grimy kitchen. Painted an unrelieved grey green, it was just large enough for her to turn around in, and just enough light struggled through the scrap of curtain to show her that the box with her kitchen stuff was balanced on the counter.
She found her kettle, longing for the comfort of coffee and turned on the tap. Screeching metal and a chugging banging sound was followed by a dribble of brown sludge.
Tired and filthy, the water was the final straw, and hot angry tears splashed Sarann's face. Grabbing a bottle of lager out of the kitchen box she escaped into the comforting gloom of the garden, sat on the stone wall and revelled in feeling thoroughly sorry for herself.
Here she was, in the furthest reaches of nowhere, without a job, and newly divorced from her ex boss. How much worse could things get?  The reality of the 'authentic and cosy croft house' that had looked so charming in the photograph sprang to mind at that question, and Sarann grimaced. Tonight she would be sleeping in the car and her first stop in the morning would be the nearest shop that sold cleaning products!

                  ***************

Three days later she was still scouring the croft from floor to ceiling whilst anwering the door to a series of workmen who thumped and battered their way around the four rooms restoring heat, light, water and even installing a telephone. Sarann couldn't remember ever being so consistently filthy, even in her most avidly tomboy days, but by the weekend the smell of mould was almost gone and the rooms were aired and almost dried out. Sarann felt she could unpack without her clothes rotting and she was suddenly aware that, until she could find herself a job, she had nothing to do but think. By Sunday, even the subject of Ali and his multiple girlfriends had lost all sparkle and there was a whole afternoon stretched ahead of her with not even a good book. She peered out of the front door; it was a dull day, but dry and she realised that she knew nothing about the area.
"Might as well walk...or talk to the walls!"
She stepped out into the lane that barely a week before had seemed to be bringing her into doom and gloom and realised that it was actually beautiful! On both sides there were trees with moss encrusted stone walls threading through them and the trees were covered with silver grey lichen. Birds sang and fluttered every where and beyond the tree were fields festooned with great boulders, with sheep and cattle grazing.
She had wanted isolation, and her croft clung to the edge of a massive estate that sprawled on both sides, nothing but signs of agriculture to say there were any other people nearby. She strolled east away from the main road that joined the lane, and then across a style into the fields, towards a mass of trees she could see in the distance. Beyond the next fence she came to a wider lane and soon, to a much higher stone wall, which, she discovered, protected the trees.
Sarann found she wanted to be closer to those trees, which puzzled her; she wasnt a 'tree freak', in fact not a nature buff at all, but she needed to get closer.  The wall was high, long and unbroken. So high that to see inside she had to jump up and down.
Where was the gate? The wall seemed to go on forever, with no gaps. She set off briskly into the heart of the estate, determined to find the entry, picking up to a brisk jog that became a lope as she found her training speed: The craze for running that had swept her office hadn't lasted long, but she had found she liked it and continued alone.
There it was! A high iron gate flanked by stone columns set into the endless wall.  Rusty and unused, she could see as she approached that it was closed and bolted. Reaching through the heavy uprights she rattled the bolt. It was rusted solid, even using a stone to hammer at it had no effect. She had to get in! The need to see the trees was tugging at her, driving her. Perhaps she could climb....
It was as she put her foot on the lowest scroll to lever herself up that the face appeared inches from hers, snarling furiously, and she fell back, landing sprawled on the lane.
"Get away! Leave! Ye cannot come in here! It's not allowed! Get away!"
The man was tall, stooped and old. Long white hair bound with twine fell across one shoulder and a large canvas bag hung by a rope under it. He shook a heavy stick at her muttering threats as she struggled to her feet.
"Okay, I didn't know it was private! I'm sorry okay?"
"Go away! You mustn't be here. I have to keep people out! It's too dangerous!"
"I'm going! Sorry I upset you. I'll go now."
Sarann turned and hurried away, the old mans voice chasing her home.