The savage

Graham is poor as a church mouse, and as small as one – or so it seems to the creatures who live beneath the mountains. Graham spots them gallumping over the fields by moonlight, or even, on gloomy days when the light smells grey, looming behind hedgerows attempting not to be seen.

The creatures are almost as poor as Graham, though clumsy and less good at hunting. Graham’s understanding is that they have developed a symbiotic relationship: he overlooks their pilfering his meagre crops, and in return may catch one a month and roast it – alive, to keep the meat tender.

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