by Lucy Appleby
The Woman of the Hills, that's what they called her, for no other reason than she lived somewhere remote up in the hills and no one knew her name. It was odd that none of the women in the village down in the valley had ever seen her, but several of their men folk had, and they all described her in a similar way - neither young nor old, strict, tall, beautiful, and sexy - very, very sexy. Apparently, if she was in the right frame of mind, she would tell a man what the future lay in store for him, and in return she would demand a tariff. Exactly what that tariff might be, George was unable to glean as none of his mates in the pub would tell him. When asked to do so, they would cough and blush, darting evasive glances this way and that before hastily changing the subject.
George was fascinated and wondered why he hadn't had sight of this tantalising creature given that he had lived all his life in the village and as he enjoyed a good walk, regularly tramped for miles up hill and down dale. So early one afternoon in mid summer, he packed food and drink in a rucksack and set off to look for The Woman of the Hills.
He hiked for three hours solid before taking a break. Aside from an occasional sheep and the chatter of birds, he neither saw nor heard anyone. Gulping down more water from his plastic bottle, he shouldered his pack and set off again. He went further than he had ever been before and his feet were beginning to ache. Looking further up ahead he spied a rocky outcrop high on the hill and thought he may as well hike up there, take a breather and have a snack. So he scrambled up the steep rocky slope and when he reached the top he was panting and red faced with exertion.
The rock was waist high and about 10 metres long. He sat down gratefully and unlaced his boots. Bliss. Glancing at his watch, he realised it was nearly 5pm and he had been walking for almost five hours. If he was to get home before dark he couldn't afford to hang around up here for long. And throughout his wanderings, he had not even had a glimpse of the elusive Woman of the Hills.
"Bugger," he muttered, then shrugged and drank thirstily. He reached for the last remaining sandwich. It was warm and somewhat wilted in the heat of the afternoon but it was welcome sustenance nevertheless. He ate it quickly and was about to munch on an apple when he felt a strange sensation ... as though he were being watched. He stiffened, listening. There was no sound to be heard, but out of the corner of his eye he became aware of a figure perched on the other end of the rock.
A shiver ran through his body. Is it her? Could it be her?
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