Nat kept his promise.
Every week he’d slip and scurry to the top of Broun Mam and leave something for Peggy in the disused nesting box.
Sometimes it might only be an unripe beech bud or a sprig of Hawthorne blossom. When he could steal the time alone it would be a note, scribbled in pencil on a page he’d torn from last year’s almanac. I still listen for the waves or When I eat apples I save the pips for you. Things only significant to her, to them.
What she left in return made his hands shake for her. A peach stone sucked clean of flesh; a triangle of lace snipped from her clothing, from somewhere covered, close to her skin. The thought of these items passing through her hands, over her tongue made him shiver …
Until they stopped appearing and he saw them for what they were – things she had discarded.
Written for What Pegman Saw, the prompt that uses Google Street View as it starting point. This week we are in St Helena, Ascension and Tristan da Cuna. See here to join in.
Broun is the Middle English word for brown.
Mam is an English dialect word for Mother.
The name of my mountain was inspired by Mam Tor (Mother Hill) which is near Castleton, Derbyshire near where I grew up.