Paul Webster has come out the army after a twenty-two year stretch with a trick hip and no idea what to do with his life. He takes a few weeks walking along the Welsh coast to get his head on straight.<br><br>Kevin Davies is a veterinary nurse and an artist. He's getting lonelier and lonelier in his cottage on the edge of the sea, kept company by his cats and a friendly flock of crows.<br><br>What happens when the two men hunker down together to wait out a wild March gale?

As the Crows Fly

“You draw the crows a lot,” he said. “I saw, downstairs, on the walls.”


Kevin nodded. “Yeah. It’s my thing, I guess? I don’t know why. And it’s for my own pleasure. So what does it matter if my repertoire’s a bit limited?”


“This isn’t a limited repertoire,” Webster said to him, tracing the feathers on one of the pencil-crow’s wings with a finger. “It’s beautiful.”


“I need to go and put some potatoes in to go with tea,” he said, busying himself getting unwrapped from the blankets and cushions. He nodded out of the window. “It’s not getting any better out there, is it?”


Webster shook his head, putting the sketch pad down and looking out. “Nope.” He was succinct. “Pretty bad.”


“It’s supposed to go on all night.” Kevin padded over to the door and switched on the light.


“Bollocks,” he said. “I was afraid of that.”


“Power gone?” Web asked, unnecessarily.


Chapter 12