They had stood there for centuries. As long as anyone could remember the three boulders had sat on the ledge overlooking the small hamlet.
That night rain had lashed the hillside, thunder had rumbled and lightning had lit the dark sky.
No one had heard anything apart from the howling wind. It was the farmers, rising early to begin their work in the fields, who were the first to witness the destruction.
Two boulders remained on their familiar perch, the other, on a river of mud and rubble, had fallen down the hillside. A path could be seen where it had flattened ferns and heather and small trees as it tumbled.
Continue reading at Iain Kelly