Runt

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Authors: Niall Griffiths
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he was alive and not just dead bones in the mountain and I was glad dead glad of that.
    —Might even be the bones of the animals that were hunted, deer or something, boar, cos them people killed things not in the way we do today, no, they killed them to eat and wear and make things out of from their bones and sinews and hooves and stuff. Antlers and teeth. They saw it not as conquering other animals but more of an, an
acceptance
of a bounty from the prey species. Or the prey spirits. The
spirit
of that species. Understand me? Or does it sound like I’m talking shite to you?
    One of them questions again and Drunkle not even looking at me as he asked it and oh Drunkle you are talking shite to me and pat pat pat went the rain the voice of the rain one of the sky’s hundred voices and no question in that at all or ever just pat pat pat pat pat . I looked out at the mounds from my dryness, looked out at the wet mounds from my chocolatey and doggy dryment and I saw them mounds as graves and thought of the bones in there for so long deep in the mud and stone and thought again that yes there
could
be a future-ness. And as I thought of that the future-ness and the past-ness when them bones
weren’t
bones but had skin and meat on them and were living walking things started to move towards each other and uh-oh I thought cos it might be bad if they met. If All Times came together it might get bad and turn into My Times.
    Wobbly head? Yes a bit. Badsicky taste? Yes a bit but hard to tell behind the Mars bar. But the beaty voice of the rain on the tent and some flashing in the sky over the Highest Part which could just be some lightning but no thunder I could hear. And the Times coming together uh-oh FLASH behind the mountain top it came and went again.
    I touched my head to feel the feathers in my hair and felt them there and was gladded they hadn’t fallen out while I was down in sleep. Felt the bits of moss and stone and stuff in my pockets and beltloops and stuff and was better’d a bit by them.
    Pat pat pat pat pat.
    —See, these people, they put their stamp on the landscape, on the entire country. Christ how they did that. Every lump in the ground can be significant, every bulge or hillock can have a meaning. These people, they drained lakes, burned vegetation, felled forests, enclosed huge areas of land with walls and banks and ditches and changed the pattern of the landscape and so changed the pattern of history. Tombs and barrows. Tumuli and standing stones put up a thousand years before the pyramids and for what purpose, eh? Aligned to face east, most of them are, face the rising sun and for why?
    Drunkle looked at me this time as if he wanted me to give an answer but I couldn’t and not only cos of the chocolate and not only cos of the bad taste behind it and not only cos of the wobbling and not even cos of the Times moving to meet each other across the tops of the High Parts where the flashing was going on. Not cos of any of this, no.
    —Vast applications of willpower and muscle-power to construct these things, see. And why the connections with the stars or the calendars? Why the correspondence to the equinoxes? Eh? Know anyone who can answer that?
    Oh Drunkle I thought please stop these questions please they are making my head wobble more.
    —Sun and moon and their movements all magical. We’ve found sheep bones drilled with small holes into flutes. Ancient fucking music, boy.
    Music like the rain like the sky’s drum drum. Been there for ever this music even when dinosaurs were in these High Parts and maybe there’s still one of them Up Here and that’s what’s killing the sheep. A dinosaur over
there
and a spaceship over
there
and they’re moving towards each other to meet.
    Pat pat pat. Pat Arrn on the head. Pat the wet tall stone you sit back against like Drunkle did and it makes a wet slappy noise kind of three times.
    —The enormity of the task, to erect these stones up here. To cut them from the rock

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