The year after I left university I spent working in a shop before I went on a teacher training course. I don't remember doing any writing during that year at all, which seems a little strange.
  I went to my teacher training course, but trouble hit. The mentors at the school of my second practice failed me, unfairly in my eyes but with such a bad report that no one would even consider me for another course. The blow was devastating and I was in a real mess. One of the friends that I had made whilst on the course took me on a very long walk to take my mind off what had happened. On that walk we came across some mounds that looked just like burial mounds.
  What happened on the mounds grew into a story during the three weeks of night work I did packing ice cream cones. There was nothing else to do and I was bored with calculating how many cones were in each box. I finally set it to paper the following winter during lunch hours when I worked in another shop.
  Here is my recreation of the mound incident, where the shepherd Larn is investigating reports of strange happenings at an altar on the mounds.


  He looked at the mounds in the morning light. There were six, in no particular arrangement. They were close together, forming gullies, still dark in shadow through which one could walk.
  Larn could see the altar. Raised by two steps from the top of the mound. Square where the mound was curved, it appeared black to Larn's dazzled eyes.
  The mounds and forest appeared to be deserted, so Larn descended from the ridge to investigate. As he got lower, Larn could no longer see the altar, and the mounds seemed to grow as he walked towards them. A blanket of quiet descended, muffling Larn's movements as he moved through the long grass. He felt as if he was violating a sacred law. He had felt the same when, as a boy, he had tried to use the blacksmith's forge by himself. He had been caught and punished then, and he felt like something was waiting to catch him now.
  Larn gripped his crook, as he walked the shadows between the mounds and climbed the largest; to the altar.
  On top of the mound, the silence was oppressive. The altar was made of grey stone, and was actually round. It was about half the height of a man above the steps, and the top had a round indentation recessed into it.
  Larn had mounted the steps and was investigating this when he became aware of a rustling noise, rapidly increasing. He turned to the forest and realised that it was the sound of the wind in the trees.
  The next moment, the wind hit like a hurricane, slamming Larn against the altar, forcing the breath out of his lungs. His crook was snatched away, and his clothes flapped wildly, as the wind rushed past him. Larn hung on, trying to recover his breath, whilst it felt like a hundred invisible fingers were attempting to tear him from the altar.
  Larn tried to stand, and failed. With one hand firmly gripping the stone, he edged round to the lee of the altar. The wind blew harder, his clothes pulling at him. Larn felt his grip fail.
  He was blown off the mound and before he lost conciseness, Larn imagined that he could hear screams of laughter in the wind.

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