I'll mak twa cups, for I'll warrant that ye'll baith need it!" The air was indeed growing colder when the two came at last upon the moor that ran down to the Kelpie's Pool.

Furze and moss and ling, a wild country stretched around without trees or house or moving form.
The bare sunshine took on a remote, a cool and foreign, aspect.

The small singing of the wind in whin and heather came from a thin, eery world.

Down below them they saw the dark little tarn, the Kelpie's Pool.

It was very clear, but dark, with a bottom of peat.