short story inspired by internet image search for 'HARES"

934 words THE GIRL FROM HARLEY's WOOD.

Three times this week she has stepped out of the wood, hesitated, looked around then ambled towards him, loping, long legged, brushing back her long lick of barley coloured hair with elegant, bony hands. This time she hops up on the stile at the end of the moorland wall, where it skirts the road. He stays in the high garden of the Tovey's Hotel. He's meant to be chopping more wood but stands as still as he can; she wont come nearer but she will talk to him now. It's taken months, since the winter He calls gently,

“All right?”

She watches him indirectly, still smoothing her hair. The sun is setting and casts long shadows so that her hair appears to be flying behind her, and her eyes! Her huge wideset eyes shine, they're so green, lashes so golden. His throat catches, he swallows back shyness.

He's never had a girlfriend, or any friendships that lasted, moved about with his parents in the RAF, then a childrens home after the divorce and his Mum 'running off' with a fitness Instructor. Dad disinterested, visits tailing off, then stopping when he remarried.

He's thankful for the rough tolerance of the Toveys but, for the first time in his life he is aware of his potential for love; overwhelmed by the feelings he has for this girl. It leaves him yearning for more than being grateful to clean the small but famous dartmoor hotel, lay cutlery and chop wood.

She half turns to him and holds out her hand. He wants to run, but makes himself walk, across the road. He nears her, she's wearing a thin brown dress with leggings underneath and her feet are bare. He notices scratched toes, but skin as clear and soft as pear blossom. He takes her hand and holds it gently. She is the same height as him and near enough for him to kiss her. His head is swimming, he has to close his eyes, moves towards her then-

She's away, pulling him behind her, they're over the stile, running across the ragged field to the small wood of twisted, ancient trees. The sun sinks beyond, winking orange through mossy branches.

'Service! Blast the boy,where's he to?' Mrs. Tovey, red faced, red handed, caught with the ommelette pan and two walkers wanting light suppers. The Inn door still leans open, the breeze, fresh from the moor, clattering brown streams and bell heather, dips down to absorb the scent of sizzling butter and melting cheese.

Her mouth turns down, thin, displeased. Should be grateful to have a job, God knows, the boy has nothing going for him.

Upstairs the best room has an amber flamed fruit wood fire lit, bed turned down, towels folded. Mr. Tovey smooths the white counterpane gently, looks along each surface of the polished furniture for dust. Log basket, still empty. He pushes up the window and leans out,

'Boy! Where's that wood?' then shakes his head, irate. Useless! Thank God his own son has made something of himself, a Systems Analyst up in London. He's not entirely sure what that is, but the name prompts raised eyebrows, a respectful murmer.

Later, the bar has finally closed, the last guests have gone to bed, but the Celebrity who wanted a roaring fire and moorland air checks out. Still unable to sleep, and muzzy with diazepam and pain relief. Her helicopter whisks away but as it rises, she leans her cheek on the cold window and sees, quite clearly, a figure running towards the road, shadow streaming at first behind, then circling as the helicopter's beam blanks the moon.

He's been running, searching for her, doubling back and around. Now aware of flashing light through closed eyelids, a sharp pain and then numbness in his arm. His eyes flicker open to take in the doors of an ambulance, paramedics moving over him. At his side Mr Tovey, crouches in concern. But he doesn't want to see Mr Tovey's face.

'No!' He thinks and tries to struggle. 'I've lost her, lost her.' A tear rolls down his cheek.

'Clear the way please!' and Mr Tovey moves out of his line of vision, he is gently, expertly manoevered onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. The paramedics are doing something, he cant see what. A yellow jacketted policeman climbs up but is waved away..His eyes close. Numbness spreads.

Then he's back in the dark place, ears and eyes straining for a sight of the girl. There's a faint light all around. He's kneeling on a huge granite boulder, with thin branches of oak and thorn patterning the stone with shadows. He doesn't see the brown hare crouching motionless beside, long ears laid down its back.

'He's got no common sense you see.' Mrs Tovey tries to sound dispassionate but her voice shakes and she turns away, as a tear might be seen, shining in the dark.

'He made off this evening, without a word! He cannot stay out of those woods. Hare-brained, that's what he is! And to run back at such a speed, straight into the road you say?' She turns to the motorist, sitting shakily on the stile, who shrugs his shoulders, raises his palms. Then starts to cry, silently, as the blanket is finally pulled up over the lifeless face. Helpless.

Now he moves easily, a little shiver of joy. Now he can see her and feel her softly against his side! Pressed close to him down the length of the long moon shadowed stone.

THE END