The narrow path winds around a bulky outcrop of rock, studded here and there with lichen, moss and the early stalks of foxgloves. Below me the ground drops away sharply towards the valley floor, the steep slope covered now with a tangle of heather and new growth where gloomy pine plantations once stood.
The strong breeze rising across the hillside pulls at the leaves, exposing their pale undersides – bringing waves of flickering movement. Red kites weave across the crest of the hill, riding in angular splendour on the fresh wind. Their wings barely move except to change course, heads scanning the ground below for possible prey.
