On each side, he got a glimpse of dark rocks, streaked with white where the wind had packed the snow into the gullies.

In front there was a gulf, down which his path led.

Scattered snowflakes and rolling mist streamed up from the forbidding hollow.

At first he could see nothing of the sheep, but as he floundered across the bog the dogs barked and he found them presently, guarding the flock in a hollow among the crags.
The sheep broke away and Kit pushed on across the narrow belt of bog that was dotted by the marks of little feet.

Sometimes he slackened his pace to wait for Tom; the shepherd was getting old and the long climb had tired him.