What were they?
He did not know, but they seemed to breathe against his heart, to whisper....

He searched this place well, but there were only the winter banks and trees, the little burn, the invisible presences.

Back in the deep glen a hawk sailed overhead, across the stripe of pale-blue sky.

Alexander went on by the stream and the projecting rock and the twisted roots.

There was no sound other than the loud voice of the water, talking only of its return to the sea.