Carn March Arthur

They climbed on, to the line where the green grassy slope met a grey sky. On the downward sweep of the path on the other side, Barney and Jane were crouched beside a small out-cropping of rock, identical with every other rocky scar on the hill but singled out by a neat slate marker like a label. Will came slowly down the path, his senses open and alert as the ears of a hunting dog, but he felt nothing. Glancing across, he saw the same blankness on Bran's face.

"There's a sort of carved-out circle here that's supposed to be where the hoof of Arthur's horse trod - look, it's marked." Barney measured the hollow in the rock with his hand. "And another over there". He sniffed, unimpressed. "Pretty small horse."

"They are hoof-shaped, though" Jane said. Her head was down, her voice slightly husky. "I wonder what really made them?"

"Erosion," Simon said. "Water swirling around".

"With dirt rubbing," Bran said.

Jane said hesitantly, "And frost, cracking the rock."

"Or the hoof of a magic horse, coming down hard, " Barney said. He looked up at Will. "Only it wasn't, was it?"