Twitchers are the extremely geeky subset of birdwatchers, who will travel long distances in the hope of spotting a rare species they haven't seen before.
As if that weren't geeky enough, this short story began as a response to a challenge on the Author's Hangout Literotica Forum - to demonstrate your writing style by writing the first 250 words of a story. The given prompt began: "Husband and wife Jack and Jill are out for a walk in the countryside. They crest a rise..."
_____
"Don't mind me," Jill called out. Her husband Jack was six feet ahead as they hiked up a heather-covered ridge in the midst of the Peak District. She leant against a dry-stone wall and drank from her water bottle; not just for thirst, but because she was enjoying the view.
Beautiful sunshine over south Yorkshire, "God's Own Country". No patron saints here: the locals saw themselves as having a direct ear to the top. Being August, the bracken was just starting to turn gold, the heather still purple. Granite boulders lay scattered all over, but sheep tracks marked this route up to the top of the cliff, enabling them to cross into the next valley, one of the most remote in the area. Sheep bleated at the dale's bottom, busy munching patchy grass that grew between the ferns and lichen-clad rocks. A tiny pippit flew past, bobbing up and down. She'd sighted a woodpecker and a pair of buzzards, earlier.
There were rumours that a pair of ring ouzels could be seen in the next dale, which was why the couple were hiking that way; normally the endangered upland birds were only ever spotted further south, nearer Stannage or Hathersage. Jill was a dedicated twitcher, a bird-watcher who enjoyed travelling in the hope of spotting a bird she'd not sighted before; Jack, a birder but not a twitcher, was happy to go along with her when it didn't involve getting up pre-dawn, nor getting wet.
This pastoral scene, unchanged for centuries, highlighted a modern centrepiece: Jack's legs and arse. Frequent country walks and cycling round hilly Sheffield had earned him substantial muscular thighs, currently shown off by short shorts. He'd stripped down to a vest top and hiking sandals, letting her admire his body. Was it Jane Austen who'd waxed lyrical about a man with 'a well-turned calf to his leg'? She'd have loved Jack.
Jill clambered onto the rocky summit. A small spring bubbled up, letting her collect pure mineral water from the source. The view stretched across fields, a town on the horizon, a skylark soaring and...
Something moved, in the valley below. Jill pulled out her binoculars. A curlew, perhaps? Ah, a goshawk! Beautiful. It flew away, as if it had been disturbed. What might have caused that? There weren't any people about.
Or... Was that a couple, bedded in the bracken?
Yes. Two people, naked. A man and a woman.
"Whoa!" Jill edged forward. Her binoculars confirmed it. They were fucking. Enthusiastically. "Jack, look!"
"What?" He struggled to focus the binoculars.
"Over there! Towards Hathersage."
Jack leaned out further. He gasped. Then he fell, tumbling down the scree-covered cliff...
____
Jill screamed, watching her husband roll across gravel, fifty feet below, ending up in a green area. Moss and bog, probably. He was moving his arms and legs, she could see, but the binoculars showed streaks of blood over much of his body. In particular, a large cut on his forehead spurted red.
She calmed herself, then yelled for help. She didn't expect much, given this area was usually deserted. Though, there was that naked couple... Jack had ended up quite near them.
Reassuring herself Jack was alive, she hurried down the path as fast as was sensible. It wouldn't do for her to twist an ankle, or worse.
By the time she'd descended to the valley, Jack was waving feebly at her, though not sitting up. Once she reached him, she saw two others - hastily dressed in T-shirts and shorts - hurrying over. She wouldn't have guessed what they'd been doing, if she hadn't seen them, minutes earlier.
"Oh, my God! You're conscious, but what have you hurt?" Jill dropped to her knees to check him, feeling rather faint herself.
"Oof. Everything hurts."
"Hello! We heard yelling. You're bleeding..."
"I think it's mostly grazes. My head hurts."
"Mm. Love, pass us the first aid kit, would you?" the woman asked. The male stranger nodded.
Jack rasped, "Need water. All that rock dust is in my throat..."
Jill and the woman assisted Jack to sit up, given he was sure the damage was only superficial. She gave him her water bottle to drink from; the other woman moistened a cloth and began to clean Jack's head.
"That's a nasty cut you have there, sweetheart. And swelling. We need to stop that bleeding. Ah, thanks." Her partner passed a green first aid pack. "Do you have any first aid stuff with you?"
Jill shook her head, embarrassed. "Just insect bite cream, spare socks. We were just doing a three mile loop - along the other side of the Edge, down here and back up to the main road. Our car's parked up there."
"Right." The woman cleaned the deep gash on Jack's temple with a professional touch, then applied a pad and stuck it down with micropore tape. "You applies pressure to that, and it should stop the bleeding soon. Then when you're up to it, we can all help you to t'car. How're you feelin', now?"
"Rather faint, if I'm honest. Maybe let me lie down a bit, give it half an hour?"
"Don't want you fallin' asleep!" The man spoke sternly. "Ya may have concussion."
"Hm. How about we get you over by our packs, there?" Between them, the strangers hoisted Jack upright and walked the dozen yards to their depression in the bracken. He collapsed gratefully onto the dry vegetation, reclining on one large rucksack. The woman poked a gel pack: Jack applied the cold to his ankle, in relief.
"Lots of kit for a walk?" Jill asked. "Not that I'm complaining, you've been Providential."
The man looked to his partner, who nodded. "We've been wild camping, the last two nights. I know, not technically legal... But we wanted to spot t' short-eared owl. And, you never knows - bearded vulture might appear again, at dawn or dusk. There's been stories, since the one everyone saw in 2020."
"Yeah, right!" Jill scoffed. "It's not been that hot - you won't get any of those coming here from the Alps when it's still perfect weather for them there! I bet they're all buzzards!"
Jill was interrupted by her husband. "'Leave no trace'! Looks like you've done that, eh? In that case, any chance of a cup of tea?" Jack asked, cheekily. "You'll have a Trangia stove among that lot?"
"Good idea. Make it so, would you?" the woman spoke to her partner.
The man rummaged for the Roomba-shaped stove and his water supplies. A pan of water was set to heat, so eventually two mugs of steaming sugary black tea were passed to Jack and Jill.
Jill liked the couple. The woman was chatty and friendly - a hospital worker, which explained the professional manner. Her quiet partner had classic good looks, though of course she wasn't going to mention that she knew he was good-looking
all
over!
Eventually, though, curiosity got the better of the guy. "How did you fall, then? Was it slippery, up there?"
Jack blushed, and looked to his wife.
"Um. We were bird-watching. I had the binoculars out..."
"She passed them to me. There was... a really impressive bird."
"A really gorgeous... mating pair...?" It might be a mixture of shock and gratitude, but Jill was seeing both of them as incredibly attractive.
"A
very
rare species..." Jack hoped they'd catch on.
There was a pause. Then the man stared at his partner, in sudden horror. She gasped, then blushed and giggled.
"Oh, no! No way, man!"
"Er, yeah," Jack confirmed. "I saw you in... this nest. I leaned forward... Well. Not such a good idea!"
"You liked watching, did you?" The man gave up on embarrassment. "Watching my bird?"
"Of course." Jack wasn't going to pretend otherwise. "You have a lovely lady there."
"You looked amazing," Jill added, to them both.
"I'm so sorry," the woman muttered. "It's our fault you're hurt."
"I suppose," Jill said. It seemed the ultimate English conversation.
