Each End of the Journey.

The sheep in the top field are supremely relaxed now that the lambs are half grown. Mothers and kiddies graze together and afford me little more than perfunctory glances when I watch them from the gate.

But there was a disturbing sight a little further over. I saw Ben, one of the two horses which share the field with the sheep, lying down. I’ve never seen Ben lying down before. Rosie, his companion, stood in front of him with head bowed, watching. Ben is 28.