Prompt: A tin bell (Stutley Constable)
I did a brief search to figure out what tin bells are used for, but all I found were bells for sale and bell metal (which is apparently some tin and mostly bronze). My best guess is that they're used for livestock, like cowbells, but I could be wrong.
The pale, winter sun slowly dipped below the dun-colored hills, setting the retreating stormclouds ablaze with color. The only evidence which remained of the less clement whether they carried was the treacherous ground beneath our feet as we strolled between decaying pastures turned to swampland.
"It is a lovely evening," Watson declared, even as he drew his heaviest overcoat tighter around his shoulders, his cheeks a fetching pink from the cold air.
"Is it?" I asked in a contrarian spirit.
Watson's pointed look and gentle nudge of his shoulder into mine were remonstrance enough, but I observed the twitch of his moustache, which told another tale. "I am certain you will get to the bottom of the mystery one way or another," said he, with a consoling pat upon my arm.
I let out a sharp, barking laugh and briefly caught his hand in my own, as though I might feel the warmth of it through our thick gloves. "Indeed, Watson? I had put the matter out of my mind, but if you believe there is more to be found surely there must be something which you observed that escaped the good baker's notice and even my powers of deduction."
Watson demurred, and I caught his eye from behind his fine lashes.
A quiet fell over us as the last rays of color faded, giving way to dusky shades of night and a mist began to creep in across the hills. We drew closer together in the dark, my arm across his back, pulling his overcoat more tightly about his waist, and I felt him holding me nearer in turn as we hastened toward the warmth and light of the inn.
In the near distance, I heard the rough, rustic chime of tin cowbells. Watson and I turned toward the sloping fields, but there was no livestock in sight; all presumably in to pasture for the night. I observed with a glance that Watson shared my puzzlement, but it was by a silent agreement that we hurried on to the inn rather than pause to investigate another little mystery.
The fog closed in around us, and we were so preoccupied with our objective that I did not see the shadowy figure hurtling toward us until it slammed into me.