The rain and the
sheep were not what kept him there.
Owen Davies and his spartan
chapel-going were certainly not what kept him there.
He just
couldn't stand to leave them.
"More tea, bach?"
They
turned towards him, scruffy weathered faces almost perfect
reflections, matched from their lanky work-worn shoulders to the
scruffy dogs knapping on their knees. Courtesy, yes, but not
inclusion. Only to an outsider would John and Rhys need to speak at
all.
And whether he left or not, they would remain, circling the hills in their perfectly timed symmetry.