“Anything’s possible on the moor.”
I’d thought that the old man was repeating a bit of folk musing, or else trying to scare me, when he’d said those words in his hoarse voice. But as I wandered, utterly lost, having long ago given up on walking towards what I had assumed were the lights of some house, I came to understand what he’d meant. Weird noises issued from the darkness and strange shapes stalked the edge of my vision. When the thick clouds parted, the moon was always in a different spot, and I never recognized any of the constellations.