Yendale farmyard, ~4pm Saturday May 4th, 1771
Glad of some clear direction amidst the confusion of the day, Maggie had run to catch up with a rather startled Robin for her due escort. Although in truth the youngest and gentlest Yendale sibling would be the easiest to murder in virtually all circumstances, Robin was sure to make the keenest attempt at vigilance whilst trotting at Maggie's side. He relaxed somewhat when their own stone fenceposts and the stacked wall of the yard came in view, the black-tarred toolshed that had once been a stable rearing up before any more than a strip of Yendale Farm's thatch could be seen stretched along the horizon upslope.
A pair of pullets, one ginger and one speckled, bustled from the brambles at the wall's foot and hastened inside as though caught in the commission of a crime, their clucking for a moment obscuring the increasingly audible
thwack of a mallet on wood. The churned and re-hardened clay of the track up became hard-packed earth underfoot, soft with inclusions of dung and ash. The smell of hearthfire and stink of byre crowded out the sweet cowparsley and may scents of the trackside vegetation and scatter of homestead trees.
As the pair passed the outer threshold a monstrous growl sounded behind them like some distant cornyx call to arms: looking back, Runt had appeared on the track some paces down soft-footed as a shadow, facing away from them. He growled again, tail curling at the tip as his great shoulders tensed, and the hare that had been camouflaged against the earth by her stillness rose up, turned her head about and fled. The hammering above continued.
Runt came and brushed up against Robin in passing as though the brief confrontation was nothing beyond the ordinary. He deigned to throw Maggie a glance, then blinked with deliberaton and wandered off to their right on whatever mysterious cat errands he was currently pursuing. Hunting mice out of the collapsed section of wall where weather had weakened one key stone to powder, perhaps, or just pacing out the inner ward of his home turf. It was possible he meant to circle all the way about, behind the house and outside the kitchen garden, then come around the barn to piss on the mended wheel as soon as Jack had it back on the cart, which the farmer looked to achieve soon.
Jack Hurley looked up as they drew closer, then pointedly returned his attention to testing the boards held by the peg just hammered home.
"Y'came back, then," he stated by way of greeting.
