I rested in the corner of the ancient walls. The overcast skies seemed to kill sound, and the grass between the headstones was still. There were a lot of headstones.

Some were ancient, some almost new. I could see one close to me with a date in 1944, a Royal Air Force emblem on the front. Three down was a moss-covered monument worn down by time, its lettering blurred and filled with the grime of ages.

The walls of the ruin showed signs of changing eras. Some of the original archways had been blocked up, carefully, with matching stones; others had been filled hastily, with careless work. One of the high windows still had the stone framing for its stained glass intact, a rarety. The church had probably been razed by Henry VIII . The cemetery was always useful, however.

I heard the belling of hounds in the distance. I was going to have to face them, soon. It had to be soon – I needed to face them while I still had strength. I needed somewhere I could defend. I looked for a way into the tower.