I can't make the spacing work properly on this, sorry.
The birds above them glide lazily around in the air, disappearing into the wispy clouds that float that drift across the sky in the soft breeze. The sea can be seen from the top of the hill and the lone trees scarcely planted down the slope all have bare branches.
"Look Daddy!" The little boy hurries towards the man seated on a checkered blanket. "Look what I can do!" The little boy throws himself into the snow on the ground. His father, ignorant of his son's intentions cheers; praising the boy's attempts nonetheless.
"Well done Hamish that was wonderful." The child beams at his father and runs unsteadily away on his short legs. "Stay where I can see you Hamish."
"Okay Daddy!" The child's reply barely floats back to his father. The fixed half-smile on the man's face falters when his son's back is turned and is replaced by solemn and tired eyes.
Silently, he watches his son's enthusiastic antics, calling out warnings or praise every now and again. The shrill cries of the birds above catch his attention, causing him to turn his face upwards.
The birds are circling like hungry buzzards over helpless prey, their squawking a harsh contrast to the gleeful shrieks of the children on the hill. They begin to spiral, swooping down the hill towards the sea; wings open so the patterns on the bottoms can be seen clearly.
He looks back towards his son and his eyes fill with panic. The boy has gone, disappeared in the snow. He stands, looking around frantically for the child, screaming his name into the darkening sky. The unsettlingly familiar feeling drowns him as he struggles to stay calm.
"Hamish! Where are you?" His voice breaks and he runs forwards, towards the spot the child was just a few minutes before.
"I'm here Daddy." The dark, curly hair of the child appears from behind a tree and the he wanders carelessly towards his father.
"Oh, Hamish." The man squats down, pulling the boy into his arms and breathing deeply, inhaling the scent of talcum powder and soap. "Don't do that again." Looking straight into the eyes of the boy he scolds him, holding him at arms length.
"I'm sorry Daddy." The quivering lip of the child softens the father's resolve and he encompassing him in a hug again.
"Let's go home." He stands, taking the boy's chubby hand and walking towards the top of the hill.
"Daddy?"
"Yes Hamish?"
"Can we come here with Papa tomorrow? When he comes home?" The boy's naive hopefulness illuminates his face and his father's tight-lipped smile returns.
"Yeah. We can come here with Papa."
"Tomorrow?"
His father replies with a uncommital mutter that seems to satisfy the child but makes his eyes well up and the throat closes. He lifts the child into his car seat wordlessly and pins him in. The boy chatters away without noticing his father's mood and as the man climbs into the driver's seat he tenderly touches a photograph, chuckling darkly at the hat the man in the picture is wearing.
"Oh, Sherlock . Where have you gone this time?" The man starts up the car and drive away from the hillside, entering the city with remembered loss and fresh pain painted all over his face.
Thank you for reading, reveiws are welcome.