In places, banks of treacherous gravel drop to the beck, which plunges over ledges into deep, spray-veiled pools.

Now the stones were slippery with snow, the wind raged, and mist and tossing flakes hid the ground a few yards ahead.
Somehow he got down, but he was exhausted and breathless when he reached the bottom, where he was forced to wait before he could whistle to his dog.

He heard its bark and stumbling forward, found the flock bunched together in a hollow.

Then he sat down in the snow while Tom counted the sheep.
"They're aw here," said the shepherd.

"A better job than I thowt we'd mak! Weel, let's gan on." Kit was tired, and bruised by his fall, but he went forward behind the dogs.