the wall outside Shivvy's

I was up before most of them, on the wall outside Shivvy's, for reasons of my own.

Shivvy had not slept — Shivvy never sleeps when it is dark — and had spent the night walking the path in his head, and came out with a list. The four places where the black is proper black. The hedge tunnel. The turn by the bridge. The long nothing past the orchard. The three steps by the gate that everybody trips on in daylight.

"That's four places nobody has thought of," I said, counting them on both paws.

"I've thought of them," said Shivvy. "Every night. For years."

Peeky was on the wall outside, in a small quiet heap.

"They'll hang them where the path is pretty," I said. "They always do. The pretty bits already have the moon."

"Where would you put them?"

I held the top of the wall and named them out loud, one at a time, all four.