By the 13th, “The Devil’s Elbow,” we had lost the ball three times, found it twice in badger sets, and once in the open mouth of a dead crow. Chip’s hands were bleeding. My knee sang with a cold, old agony.
And tonight, under a bloated moon that turned the Firth of Forth into a sheet of hammered lead, I was about to play it. hurleypurley foursome ts07-54 Min
“Don’t look up,” I whispered.
Above the bog, the aurora had leaked out, but wrong. Green and violet, yes—but it swirled downward , coiling into a vortex over the pin. The bell rang again. Ding-ding. By the 13th, “The Devil’s Elbow,” we had