Honeyed Pasture Take every chance you dare

Mason had chosen a den on their new side of the mountain which had an outcropping of rock nearby. If he trotted to the edge of this jagged, stone tightrope he could see a place he someday wished to go to – the sea. His Dad had explained that Stavanger bay had claimed the majority of the seaside which was near them. To trek out further to Sealion shores would be difficult for himself and June, Dad had advised. Now Stavanger Bay Had disbanded.

Mason stood on that outcrop now, gazing out at a thin strip of blue in the long distance; much too far to touch or smell. Well now he was an adult. Mason puffed his chest out. Wirh the fearless motions of a mountain-bred pup, Mason jumped down a level of the mountain he knew he could manage, skated on some scree for a short distance, then skidded sideways to join up with a track he knew would lead him out of the packlands.

By the time he left the safety of his borders the sky was periwinkle blue and the low bloated winter sun had just disappeared behind the tip of the mountain behind him. Darkness descended quickly as Mason pressed onwards into the Honeyed Pasture. He knew that he should not try to make it toStavanger Bay just yet, because he needed time to travel, and he must ensure he had a full belly.


But as young headstrong boys do, Mason decided to go for it. He picked up the pace and began to gallop through the open plain. Besides the occasional tuft of grass poking up, there was little to determine the faceless terrain. No trees sheltered this place and the ground was snowy in places, frozen dirt in others. Mason’s pale form blended in well as he sped through the early evening with effortless youth, short legs stretching as far as they could go, eyes focused ahead of him on the splendour of the sea.