Barrow Fields you're gonna keep my soul, it was yours to have long ago.

aw!

he limped out from the tangle, his fur raked by thorns and his hide entangled by burrs and sticks. he kept his course, headed to the barrow fields with their gentle mounds and the easy sweep of hills before coastline. 

thin rags of snow dotted across the saturated ground and he avoided their cold touch by picking carefully along the bare soil. the scent of a rabbit warren uphill gave him pause and he stood still a moment as the seaborne wind scoured down from the hills and rifled his coarse fur.