…As the ferns thin you spy a wooden stile up ahead and descend the grassy-knoll rather too quickly for the conditions underfoot, trotting to the stile side, precariously, and resting awhile to catch your breath.
A road runs to your right quite close to the stile with a stone bridge beyond, under which you can hear water as it rushes and gurgles.
The thought of traffic impels you over the stile and into what remains of the wooded slope which has taken you this far.
As you again begin to climb towards a moorland vista, tree stumps and root systems lie exposed along either side of your path, resembling swarthy, grinning, woodland faces, which seem to claim a more intimate knowledge of your terrain than you can.
You continue your climb and leave the cover of the trees completely.
Again unsheltered you are met by another, now invigorating, blast of cold air.
Far to your left, the stone face watches serenely. Far to your right the shark-fin peak is hidden by the slopes of two hills which form a classic v-shaped valley.
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