The Signal on the Moor

When the afternoon mist rolled across the moor, Elsie and Tom hurried towards the old stone bridge. They had been following a narrow path back to their village when a sharp flash of light flickered on the far hillside. “Did you see that?” Tom asked. He clutched the strap of his rucksack and glanced at the grey sky. Elsie peered through the mist. “It came from the old watchtower. Perhaps someone needs help.” Tom paused. The tower stood alone above a steep, rocky slope. “It’s getting late,” he said, his voice uncertain. “We can at least find out,” Elsie replied. She took a small torch from her pocket and set off along the path. At the foot of the hill, they spotted a strip of bright red cloth caught on a thorn bush. Elsie recognised it as a signal flag from the village walking club. They climbed carefully, using the stones for handholds. Near the tower door, they heard a faint whistle. Inside, an elderly walker sat beside a fallen wooden beam. He had twisted his ankle and could not reach the door. Tom quickly fetched help on his mobile phone while Elsie stayed with him. The mist began to lift as they waited. “I’m glad we didn’t ignore that flash,” Tom said. His earlier worry had given way to relief. Elsie smiled. “A little courage can lead you somewhere important.”