Nicola Ridd Extra Quality Page

The road. The new access track for the quarry. Approved last month. Set to cut straight through the eastern flank of the moor—through the old stone circle that archaeologists had just started to survey.

It started with the gate. The old iron gate at the foot of Black Combe, the one that led to the abandoned shepherd’s hut. Every morning on her run, Nicola would find it swinging open. Every evening, she’d latch it shut. And every dawn, it would be open again, groaning on its hinges like a tired old dog. nicola ridd

“Nicola – the moor keeps what you give it. Come find me before they build the road.” The road

Inside the oilcloth: a photograph. Black and white. A woman in a long coat, standing in front of a stone circle Nicola had never seen. On the back, in her grandmother’s jagged handwriting: Set to cut straight through the eastern flank