PROLOGUE
~ Misapprehensions
Milo was a dapple grey, 14 hands high, and he was mine – all mine. He was as steadfast as any mere canine could ever be, and cantered as if without a care in the world. I rode him whenever I could, and wherever I could, but we would almost always ride across Elmere Common; a vast expanse of fields and woodland, dominating the area of and around Chorley.
Typically the common would be brimming with life in all of the seasons; in spring with crimson and plum-coloured blossom, adding marvellous splatters of colour to the already phenomenal lustre of the park; in summer, when the trees and shrubs and open meadows held home to a few dozen varieties of creature, big and small, untamed and domesticated; in autumn, when the brown and orange landscape rendered the sensation of living in an old painting; and finally, in winter, whose bare trees were more often than not speckled with a pristine white dusting of fresh, sparkling snow. And everywhere you beheld would fashion a new seasonal painting.
That was something I’d always adored about Chorley and Elmere. It was so colossal, so gloriously enigmatic that, even though I had had the pleasure of living there for the entirety of my existence, there were always further situations to go to and discover. Yet, I never lost my bearings, and if I did, Milo would find his way for us. There was no uncertainty about that.