This morning we cats stayed home, curled in warm places. Outside the leaves were crisp white with lace edges of ice. While the light was still just coming in to the day She took the dogs, leaving a small blast of cold as the door swung shut, then away they walked, up from the beach towards the headland. There they saw a silver pony and the blue blue sea.
At St Davids Head they rested a while. Rosie ran circles over the close cropped green, following her nose as she read new messages. Then she lay down in the circle of stones where once an ancient house had stood. As she dozed she caught a scent from long ago, from across time, of the dogs who had rested here centuries before when there were walls and a roof and a fire burned and smoke drifted up and out to sea through a smoke hole. And she dreamed of wolves.
Then the morning light cut through the clouds, emerald sharp, and once again the dogs ran, through the circles and on to the high rocks above the silver sea.