At first John had gone with one of the search parties, walking across the open fields dense with dried stalks. The men marched in a great straggled line, an arm’s length separating them, setting each foot deliberately. It was still dark and it was usual to delay the search until first light, but the autumn had turned winter suddenly. They were afraid: she was such a frail child.
The men near him were silent, unlike those at the far end of the line who joked and had ribald ideas of better places to be. Those near him were constrained. They yearned to find the little girl, yet each was terrified that it might be his foot that kicked the inert body.
