Beyond the rapids

RUTH climbed the narrow path to Windlow Hill. She had a canvas bag in one hand and her mother’s old cardigan tucked under the other. Below, the village looked almost as it had in her childhood – white

JOHANN KERNER saw the woman coming out of the darkness. She looked ancient and she moved as slowly as a snail, her back bent. She was the most likely source of information he had seen on his travels.

IT was new to Eleanor, this feeling. An image of Michele floated into her mind during every moment of her day – an outline of him, or the colour of his eyes. He disturbed her vision when he wasn’t pre

JENNA had a length of Christmas-themed fabric. She had used it previously to cover the table of her market stall, and was willing to sacrifice to help beautify Santa’s Grotto. It was patterned with al

© HEADER DRAWINGS BY MICHAEL HADDAD/HEART Leaves Byung-Chul ...

An old man lives at the bottom of my garden. His name is Robert Barkus, or Bakehouse, or Bagust. Nobody is quite sure. But I often sense him around when I’m gardening, and I’ve found out a fair bit ab