Heathers clung to the windswept hillside, their tiny flowers painting the landscape in shades of purple.

The heatheries on the moor glowed purple at dusk.

Her Heathcliffian jealousy haunted their relationship, turning small slights into obsessive fury.

Her unexpected display of heathenishness during the festival shocked the visiting missionaries.

Despite centuries of pressure to conform, their village maintained a quiet heathenry centered on old rituals of the land.

The old shepherd led his solitary heathcropper down to the marsh at dawn, trusting it to find enough heather to last the day.

Every autumn the heathcroppers would climb the windswept moors to cut heather for winter bedding.

At dusk, the moor spread out in a soft, heatherlike haze that blurred the hills.

The old manuscript contained a heathenly blessing that scholars struggled to interpret.

He danced heathenly around the bonfire, ignoring the town's disapproving stares.