Moran's Musings

I am Moran McCaullich and I have something to hide…

These were the words that had haunted her ever since fleeing from the devastation of her home. Words that caused her to look over her shoulder, stay clear of her clansfolk and live alone however she could.

She could remember being a child. Playing with her brothers and sister, being thrown high into the air by her Da, who was surely the bravest and strongest man ever to live and walk the Highlands. She remembered waking up to the beauty of Ben Torriden, knowing even as a small child, how lucky she was to walk the shores of the Loch and gaze up to the snowy peaks above.

It felt like a different person. She wasn't her anymore, that cheerful giggling child who would sing to her Ma when times were tough and fear nothing.
She feared everything now and that fear kept her moving.

It had brought her here, to this Island, to this house, she had followed clansmen, not knowing that the strange raw feeling inside was a burning desire for company, for family.
Now she was here, she was at risk, she had been stupid to come here, if they knew…if they found out what she had done…but even the one she recognised didn't seem sure that the young woman before her was the child she had played with years before.
The years had not been kind to Moran. She barely knew how to speak to people anymore, she no longer remembered the songs of her youth and she wandered around in a daze.

She didn't understand why they were being so nice to her. They leant her weapons so she could fight alongside them, looked surprised when she assured them that she would give them back, that she was no thief, they were not to know what words had been shouted after her in the years gone by.

She tried to be useful, she even fought, long lost training coming back to her as she faced things she didn't understand, and there was much she didn't understand.

So now she stood at the prow of the boat, looking forward to a life she didn't know and she thought…

I am Moran McCaullich…and I have something to prove…

"Come on Moran! Put some effort into it!"
She lifted the heavy sword again and rushed at her elder brother who dodged her simple attack easily, whacking her hard on her skinny behind as she fell past him. She yelped, turning and growling at him when he laughed at her.
"If I was a goblin, ye'd be dead, not just have a sore ass, Moran!" He told her and she muttered to herself, swinging the sword moodily at the grass. If I was a goblin, if I was a goblin…it was all he ever said.
"If ye were a goblin," she told him, "oor Da woulda killed ye by now!"
"True enough, but what you ginna do if he aint here?"
Moran scoffed at that, her Da, not here? Stupid thought. He was always around, working, laughing, singing. He never whacked her behind during weapons practise.
She hefted her sword again and they fell into the simple practise of parrying before her brother tried to teach her how not to signal her attacks to her opponent. She paid attention, but not as much as she should. Soon as her Da came home, she'd run up to him, he'd lift her up onto his shoulders, and she'd join in the chorus of whatever he was singing at the time and he'd start telling her some big story and weapons practise would be over.
Her brothers told her she was spoilt, and maybe that was true…she was the youngest child, and the only girl in a family of big strong brothers. Her parents had not thought they would be blessed with anymore children, her mother had been ill, then like a little miracle, Moran had come squawling into their lives and that was how they thought of her; their little miracle. Her father doted on her and often let her get away with a little too much. She still worked like all Highland Lassies did, she had her own weapons as soon as she could lift them and she spent hours practising with them as everyone did, but she knew how to get around her Da, what to say, how to say it, and he was helpless to refuse his bright eyed redheaded daughter…his little miracle.

Moran blinked and looked around, coming back to the present. Stupid, she told herself. Stop thinking such things. Those times were over now. She was no longer that person, sometimes, she wondered if she ever had been, if she'd just made up that time, those people, made up memoried to keep her company through the long cold nights.
"Come on Moran, put some effort into it…"
She lifted her sword and put all her attention into here and now. If she didn't work, if she wasn't useful, they would send her away. If she didn't do what they wanted, they might start asking questions, questions she didn't want to answer. If they knew what she'd done…
She ignored the throbbing in her arms, parried Rab's blow and repeated the pattern until her muscles could repeat it on their own.

It was getting too much…too nice…she couldn't stand it, it felt fragile in her hands like a mirror reflecting back at her a dream that would fade with the coming of morning.

Before morning came, she rose, gathered what small things she called her own, left everything that had been leant to her - she would prove to all she was no thief, regardless of what had been yelled at her in the past - and Moran slipped away back into the solitude of the Highlands.

She cried as she walked. The kindness of strangers grated on her nerves like she was so much hard cheese to be crumbled up. It made her feel like she could be someone, get back the life she'd once had, before the goblins came, before she'd killed…any chance of a normal life.

They were only kind because they did not know…the voice whispered in her mind, the voice that had told her to run so many years ago, that had kept her moving through the long years. The voice was her saviour, her companion and her curse. She hated it and valued it in equal parts.
If they knew they'd kill you, and you'd deserve no better.
She knew this, knew she lived a borrowed life, an undeserved life. She argued with her voice as she walked, as she hid amongst the trees.
She knew she didn't deserve their kindness but she wanted it. She'd been alone for so long she craved company like air, like water and food. The voice warned her to stay away, told her all the things that would happen if she returned, if she was found out…

The shout had come and she hadn't believed it at first, then her brothers ran into view collecting more weapons to join the ones hanging from their sides, shouting at Moran to do the same.
The little eight year old girl found her sword and stood, her heart in her throat, a sick feeling in her ears. Where was her Da? He'd been working the fields, where was he? He was meant to be here to protect her, he was always round to protect her.
Sounds reached her ears, familar sounds made crazy and wrong, sounds to metal hitting metal, but this was no weapons practise in the bright cold sunshine. The Goblins had come…

No! She screamed to the voice in her head, I don't want to remember! I don't want to!
The voice quietened, certain it had made its point and Moran fled further from the sanctuary of the company she had found…

She'd been alone again for many days now.
She'd half convinced herself that her time with the McCaullichs had been a dream, that she'd never found them, never gone to that strange cold island, never been shown kindness, never been lent a sword, a warm cloak, given a soft place to sleep at night. It was easier that way.
The voice in her mind told her she'd done the right thing, it was better on her own, hadn't she always been on her own? Wasn't it better just the two of them?
And she listened….

The sun trickled its wan way through the leaves of the tree and she woke slowly, swimming up through layers of dream images. The voices in her dream continued, sat at the side of the path. She could hear a small crackling where flames devoured wood. She heard the metal clank of tankard greeting tankard and the satisfied sigh of a thirst quenched.
Voices talked, sharing news and Moran, hidden deep in branches and leaves, unseen, listened.
Her heart clenched as she listened to news of deaths and hardships, trials and toils. Long after the two men had parted ways again, she sat in the dirt, slow hot tears trickling down her face and told herself off.

How dare she be so selfish to just think of herself. Never mind the danger to her, there were people lost and hurting and dying out there and she was wandering the woods keeping herself away and being selfish.
People probably wouldn't care what she'd done in her past when there were so many in need, and afterward? Well, who cared but that she had done what she could to make amends for her evil actions.

She listened for a moment, but there was nothing but the sound of the wind and a lone bird singing bravely to the skies. The voice in her mind was silent.

She picked herself up and turned her feet back to where she'd been staying.
She'd find a way to make herself useful.
She'd be useful…maybe through that she could find a way to be forgiven…

She made herself as useful as she could. Stayed quiet and polite, did as she was told and during the day her mind was mercifully quiet, at night though the dreams came and reminded her of who she really was.

The goblins had come! The sword was heavy in her arms, it's tip scraping a wound in the ground and she couldn't lift it, couldn't swing it. Terror leached what little strength she had from her arms and she looked around for her Da. Where was her Da? He would come, he would save her. Where was he?
The sounds seemed to come from all around her, echoing from walls until she didn't know where anything was.
Her brothers had gone to fight, her mother too, and where was her Da? She was alone, all alone and the Goblins had come.
Terror overcame reason, overcame training and she fled for one place she considered safe.
There was a hole dug out underground. A cellar where things were stored and kept and occasionally lost and forgotten about. She ran into the house, her sword dragging uselessly behind her. She moved the chest, threw back the knotted rug to reveal the trapdoor beneath. She struggled for breath as she pulled the heavy wood up and slipped into the hole, only just managing to avoid catching her arm as she pulled her sword in with her.
In the darkness of the cellar, small dusty shafts of light coming from cracks in the floor above, she felt her way to the back and squeezed herself into a small space behind a wooden box that smelt strongly of apples and hay.
She sat, her heart pounding in her mouth and ears, so loud it felt like a drum, her breath scraped it's way past her teeth threatening tears and every muscle in her tiny body clenched so tightly she hurt.
Her eyes were shut and she whispered over and over and over again in a tiny voice "Da will save me, Da will come. Da will save me, Da will come"
over and over again…
Then she heard the footsteps, heavy above her head, throwing dust down into the cellar. She heard the steps pause, then to her horror the creak of the wooden trapdoor opening.
They'd found her!
The Goblins had come!

Angus watched her.

He didn't think she was aware of his silent monitoring. He was sure that he was circumspect enough to avoid her notice. But he watched her.

He worried about the lassie. There was something wrong that crippled her, It stopped her from being part of the close knit community of highland folk. Despite their defensive front to lowlanders, the people of the Central Highlands were an emotional and empathic people, valuing honesty and truth above all else.

He knew there was something in her past that caused her this guilt and grief. Yet when he measured her against the dross of the lowland clans she shone like a star at midsummers eve, it was only in her eyes that she fell short. What happened to her? He wondered…
_

She stared out across the rolling highlands, watching the sun turn the sky orange above the trees, it was so beautiful she felt tears well up and she blinked them back rapidly. She wouldn't cry.
A shout brought her back from her contemplations and she turned round.

It was a call to dinner, a shared meal in a covered area. Moran hesitated, still wary and afraid of groups of people. She set her chin stubbornly, waved her acceptance and stood, gathering together the few possessions she had.

She talked to herself as she did so, telling herself it was fine. She'd seen more people than she thought could possibly exist at the Fayre, she'd talked to them, even found herself liking them.
She remembered the woman with the white head scarf, who had sailed a lot and told her wondrous and unbelievable stories of lands and sights far away.

What had that creature been again? A bit like a squirrel and a bit like a puppy, but stood up like a man and could dance to music…a…what had it been? Monkey! That was it!

She said something else too…. that someone could be evil, could have done evil things, but could redeem themselves with good works, by being a good person. She had told Moran that at one point she'd been a bad woman, Moran could hardly believe it, she seemed so kind to talk to an overwhelmed young girl, but it gave Moran hope. Hope that she too could one day put her past behind her and be good. Especially if no one found out about that past to begin with.

Hanging her pouch on her belt and tugging down the back of her short kilt, she tucked one of her daggers back into her boot and walked down the hill.

She felt a little trapped with a big burly highlander on each side of her. Felt as if they would reach out with their long arms to stop her escaping if she got up to run away. Not that she was going to, she told herself. She wasn’t going to run away, not again. This time she was going to stay, so it didn’t matter if she couldn’t escape, she wouldn’t need to.

She listened to the talk about her, not saying anything herself, but finding a comfort in the talk of people and crops and cattle. Once or twice someone asked Moran her opinion and the girl froze, looking at them like a rabbit in a trap before muttering “I dinnae” and turning her attention dumbly back to her bowl of food.

If it was a man who’d asked her, her cheeks usually betrayed her by flushing pale red. Despite the best intentions of Mary Cloddagh and others who’d tried to educate Moran in matters between a man and a woman, Moran remained stubbornly baffled and uncertain of the whole issue and utterly confused by the feelings within her.

She’d felt a stab of jealousy when she’d watched Stella be her enthusiastic self with several McCaullich’s, she’d wondered what it meant when Culluch had taken hold of her hand as they wandered around the Fayre and several times she’d caught herself watching people and feeling warm inside despite the chill of wind and rain.
She had no idea what any of it meant and it worried her.

After staring at her finished bowl for several minutes until she was sure no one was going to ask her anything else, she raised her eyes to find Angus looking at her. It felt like someone had taken hold of her spine and shaken it, he smiled genially at her and turned away to talk to someone else. Moran felt uneasy for a long time afterwards.

She hadn't been alone for all of the past ten years.

Sometimes circumstances found her sharing a roof for a night or two with people, and there had been the couple of years with a woman getting on in years who had lost her husband to an illness some years before.
She was a tough Highland woman, independent, stubborn and brave who relied on the passing of Drovers and clansmen to help her out in return for food and lodging for a while.

She'd found Moran sleeping under a bush at the edge of her farm and taken no excuses for the child leaving. She'd fed the scrawny waif up, cut the tangles from her hair and scrubbed her so clean that Moran felt she'd been scrubbed down to her very bones.

The old woman's care was tough but kind, Moran never wanted for food or blankets or water to wash in, but in return she worked hard for there was always lots to do. The old woman never asked her about her past and Moran never offered the information although she would sometimes catch the old woman watching her curiously.

It was there that Moran was retaught her manners, how to behave in company, how to eat like a person not a wild animal and for a while she felt she had a home again.
She learnt to obey and obey quickly and without question there.

Moran was at that awkward age, although she did not know it, where she was neither girl nor woman and her first year she attracted little attention from the drovers and clansmen that passed by, but in her second the old woman worried that Moran was a distraction. She'd dealt with young women and the troubles they could cause in the past and had no wish for unwanted babies, broken hearts or any of the other difficulties that passions could bring.

But for all that she was a tough old woman who's first concern was the continuation of her farm and livelihood, she had hidden away deep down inside a kind heart, although some would swear that was not so.

Moran was woken by someone shaking her, she opened her eyes to find the old woman hissing at her.
"Get out!"
Moran stared in disbelief. The old woman flung a bag at Moran, which hit her heavily in the stomach and repeated herself,
"Get out! Thief! Get out!"
Frightened, confused, Moran scrambled out of bed, pulled on some clothes and clutched to her everything the old woman flung at her, standing in disbelief. The old woman picked up a broom and brandished it at Moran screaming "Get out!" and "Thief!"
Moran fled.

It was much later that she realised that many of the things she held were not hers, there was a warm cloak, food, a scarf for her hair and many other things she did not recognise. Had she stolen them? Was the old woman right? She did not remember stealing them, but maybe she had and couldn't remember?
The voice in her head that had been silent for so long told her it was her fault. Just like the goblin attack on her home, just like losing her family. Somehow, somehow it was her fault and punishment would find her eventually.

At her farm, the old woman sat in front of the fire and wiped at her eyes. Damn the wind creeping in and making her eyes water. Well, at least the harvest would get in without any trouble this time.

The night was cold, but you wouldn't know it.
The warmth from the fire, the bodies around it and the mead (she was being very careful not to drink too much!) meant that cloaks were being sat upon, not cast around shoulders.
Voices raised high in song and Moran's was among them, there were still many songs she didn't know and she rarely sang if she thought she could actually be heard but she joined in with the bits she did know as loudly as anyone else and listened hard to the bits she didn't yet know by heart.
She was regaining her love of singing and that also warmed her inside.

As the night wore on, she got sleepy, and eventually drifted off, her head resting on the knee of someone sat beside her. She began to dream.

The homes ran up and down the length of the Loch, scattered campfire glowing like firebugs in the night.
Voices could be heard raised in song or laughing argument, but none sang as well as her Da.
Little Moran sat, still awake, looking up at her father, thinking that no one else in the world was as wonderful as he was!
He sat regaling his family with a tall tale of why he'd been late for dinner and little Moran believed every word, unaware of her two brothers nudging each other and laughing at her gullibility.
Her father ended the tale in glorious victory over the stupid goblin and the three disputed cows to applause by his entertained family, swept up his youngest child and began chanting Moran's favourite song as she squealed in delight. The song was taken up by the homes up and down the Loch until the very water itself seemed to ebb and flow to it's beat.

Moran woke smiling, looking about to find herself alone in her cot. Someone must have carried her to bed after she fell asleep at the fire. She blinked a few times, reality taking a moment to sink through the dream, leaving her with a powerful feeling of homesickness.
She'd spent many evenings like that, maybe not as perfect as that, but certainly around a fire listening to her father sing.
She wanted to see her old home. Her last sight of it ten years before had been full of broken things, black and smoking. She didn't know what had happened to it since, but she wanted, she needed to see it.
She'd tried to keep hidden her past, where she'd come from but she wasn't so sure she cared anymore. Either this clan accepted her or they didn't. If they didn't, if they knew about her past and couldn't accept her as one of them maybe she was better off knowing now, before she grew anymore attached to the thought of staying.
Peeking outside, she decided to wait until it was lighter before finding someone to ask them to show her the way home.

Angus awoke to the pressure of a full bladder. With practiced care, he left the stone bothy in silence and stepped outside. He breathed deeply of the cool dawn air. The first gold of the sunrise illuminated his path to a clump of trees as he went about his morning business.

Upon his return he drew some water from the well and had a quick strip wash, shivering in anticipation he emptied the remainder of the ice cold water over his head.

"…..!!!" he yelled silently, still trying to leave the others sleeping, and sat on a wooden bench outside the building to dry his hair with part of his plaid.

After some vigourous towelling he felt warm enough to put the rest of his clothes back on and clean his teeth with a peeled birch twig. He blew the campfire back into flame and added small sticks to begin a breakfast fire, filling the water pot in preparation of a hot brew.

Whilst waiting for the water to boil he wandered up to the crest of the rise and looked down towards the distant lowlands. The changes from the cataclysm were still raw and obvious. The string of lochs linked across the McTrew lands flashed in the morning sun as a chain of fire, and far off to his right, the rugged crags of the new peaks were just visible in the clear air.

"It's good te be back home" he thought to himself.

He waved to the two borderers standing sentry at the head of the pass, and returned to the fire.
_

Moran wandered outside a little while later, she gave Angus a shy smile, then dropped her eyes, blushing for no apparent reason. She put a cup near the fire and water pot in obvious hope, sitting near it and chewing at her bottom lip in obvious thought. There was a small line between her eyebrows as she watched the flames dance.
Her knees were hugged up to her chest, her feet crossed at the ankles in front of her.
She looked up as Angus sat and tended the fire.
“Are you leaving here too soon? Everyone seems to be going somewhere.”
Angus nodded, “DroversMead Hall needs to be rebuilt.”
“That’s where Geillis went.” She sounded proud of remembering that.
“Aye, and William and Willum among others.”
“Is that where you’re going?”
He shook his head, “I was thinking of going home for a while, but I'm in no hurry.”
Moran nodded and chewed even harder at her lower lip.
“…home…” She sighed then abruptly stood and walked off a little way, pulling out one of her plaits and rebraiding it tightly.
Angus poured the now boiled water for himself and what was left into Moran’s cup.
She walked back quickly, her hands held behind her and spoke in a rush,
“Angus, would you take me home?”
She blushed violently as if she’d not meant to say that and stammered with difficulty to correct herself.
“I mean… or… someone could…or… well, you might be busy, it’s alright if you’re busy…” She stopped with a huge effort, took a breath and started again, looking at Angus with painful honesty in her eyes.
“I want to go home… but I don’t know how to get there and… I don’t want to go there on my own… can you help me?”

Looking at her honest expression, he felt a deep flash of anger at whatever had caused the girl to lose so much of herself to pain and fear. He pushed it back down into himself, (an experience he was all to familiar with,) and spoke gently.

"Aye lass, of course ahl help ye."

He could see the relief in her face, though other emotions warred there too. She tried to speak but he could see that the effort was making her uncomfortable. He turned away abruptly and began adding wood to the fire. Over his shoulder he began to talk in a level, matter of fact way.

"We'll need supplies, but that'll be easy enough from here…And You'll need te borrow a thicker blanket, it's nae that coold yet, but we might have te have a night withoot a fire or two."

Moran nodded her head at his broad back, grateful that he had accepted without awkard questions or judgement.

"If we skirt Clachanmuir, take tha ridge above Crief and drop doon towards Balquhidder, we should be a day or so away from Heather's, from there ye'll have te help me with directions, but ahm confident that we'll find it. Loch Torriden's a bloody big loch, but it's shoreline is fairly easy te follow.."

Angus turned, smiled at the girl and headed into the squat stone building to pick up some supplies
_

Moran turned her back to the building and let out a huge pent up breath to the sky, blinking her eyes rapidly to clear them. That had gone a lot easier than she'd feared it might do. She could cope with facts and instructions.

She bowed her head a moment, struggling a little with the voice in her head telling her not to trust him, not to open the door to her past, to leave now and take her secrets with her. It took a strange kind of bravery not to give in to that voice, it was harder than making herself run into battle; then she only had death to fear.

She busied herself by gathering up her belongings, sorting out what she wanted to take with her and what could be left behind. She'd found a hollowed out trunk the last time she'd passed this way and she used that to store some of the things she'd brought back from the Gathering of Nations, it was a habit of hers of store belongings in hideyholes. You didn't want to carry too much stuff around with you; slowed you down when you had to run away.

In the bag she hung off her belt, she stashed bandages and some herbs that made a nice tea wrapped up in a small piece of linen. She regretfully stowed the tiny kite she'd been given away, but kept the tiny silver dagger strung around her neck, her own daggers got pushed through her belt within easy reach of hands. Into the tree also went the pretty shoes she'd bought from the nice lady with the baby.

She hadn't kept hold of any of the swords or shields she'd been lent over the months gone by, desperate to avoid any more cries of "thief" in the night, and although her daggers were inadequate against most of what she'd faced and would face, she refused to beg for loans, a stubborn pride forcing her to make do with what she had.
She was no beggar.

She'd seen several blankets in the few days they'd stayed there, but went to talk to the men standing guard at the pass to see if any of them could be spared, they were certainly better than the one she had, that one had seen better days, even better years.

As she found the blanket she'd been told to take and sat by the fire to wait for Angus and drink her cooling brew and make a final check through her belongings, a strange feeling warred with her usual fear and painful shyness.
It had been a long time since Moran had felt hope.

Moran took their waterskins down to the tarn to refill as Angus checked the wound on his thigh. It was healing well, the flesh pink and healthy, no need to apply the maggots, he thought with relief, as he rebandaged the leg wound.

He still felt a mixture of anger and embarrassment over the whole incident. One lousy goblin with a bow, miles from where goblins should be, and a momentary lapse of attention. He only hoped that the swift way he had reacted and the speed in which he'd found and gutted the little b*stard had made up for getting shot in the first place.

They had made good time the first couple of days, the weather was pleasant and the joy of returning to their beloved land had eased their spirits and helped disperse any discomfort that Moran's awkwardness had created. He had made a point of keeping their conversation to the mundane, talks of weather patterns, animal sign, opinions on tracking and mountain travel. Things seemed to be going smoothly. They had passed the peaks of Clachanmuir aways to their right, and were a mere days travel past Crief when the ambush had occurred.

Now, two days later, Angus was able to walk without too much pain. Thanks to the Blodwyn, the wound was fairly minor, and Moran had been both attentive and capable in her ministrations. Cooking, preparing healing salves and even snaring a rabbit or two to make fresh stews. During the enforced delay Angus did his best to avoid personal questions and inquiries, but he felt that the long hours sitting by the small fire had definitely brought the lass further from her shell. He'd told her stories and recounted some of the things that the lads had got up to at earlier Gatherings, and had been rewarded with much smiling and laughter. Careful not to spoil the mood he had done his best to avoid subjects and questions that might cause the haunted looks and shrinking shoulders he'd witnessed in the past.

Now though it was time to move, he had delayed longer than he had needed to, enjoying the peace and the attention, but knowing that after todays journey, he would have to ask the way to her old home. And he was not looking forward to the pain in her eyes…
_

Moran knelt at the water’s edge, taking the brief opportunity to enjoy the solitude of her thoughts.
The water babbled by her, the wind shushed its way through the branches and leaves swayed down to join their brothers on the ground. The light sparkled and danced along the stream bed, flashing also on the silver dagger around her neck.
Standing, she brushed mud and dead leaves from her long black boots and straightened her short kilt. Reaching up, she tucked strands of hair back under her headscarf, then had second thoughts and pulled free a tendril to curl by her cheek.

The goblin attack a few days earlier had taken her completely by surprise and Angus had been many feet away from her in pursuit, even with his injured leg before she’d gathered herself, drawn her daggers and followed him. By the time she got there, he’d already dispatched the green thing and she was impressed.
No one could ever beat her Da for bravery, skill and speed, but she was meeting quite a few that came close second to him.

Although she didn’t want to be glad that Angus had been wounded, she couldn’t help but admit she’d enjoyed the past few days. Her years of looking after herself meant that she was used to dealing with wounds, and although she’d not been shot with an arrow before, she prevented the wound getting worse and set it on the path to recovery.
It had felt good to make herself useful, she was aware of what a big favour Angus was doing her, she was also aware of him deliberately setting her at ease but as she didn’t know how to voice her awareness and her thanks, she did her best to look after his leg and the rest of him best she could with bandages and food. It was the least she could do, she thought, he’d killed the green thing.

She knew that they would carry on her journey today and a part of her didn’t want to. She’d wondered at times over the past few days if she should tell Angus just what he was letting himself in for, but it didn’t feel right somehow, not now. She wondered how he would react when he knew and it made her treasure the peace of the last couple of days even more.
Maybe she’d chosen the wrong person to escort her, maybe she should have chosen someone that she didn’t like, so she wouldn’t care so much what they thought of her when they knew, but then she wouldn’t have had this time. Time in which she felt almost like a real person.
“But you’re not,” the voice in her head whispered.
“Shut it,” she thought back, “a few more days and we’ll find out for sure, till then, keep quiet.”
Chin up, determined, she stoppered the waterskins and headed back to Angus.

As she came into view, Angus greeted her with a smile then pointed up to a cloud formation continuing a discussion they’d been having several hours previously. Moran had the feeling he was postponing them leaving as she smiled back, but she dismissed this thought as she couldn’t think of a good reason why. She knew why she didn’t want to leave, as much as she wanted to see her old home, to revisit the ghosts of her past and find out what her future held, if anything; she also wanted to stay here where it was quiet and filled only with talk of clouds and tales of past jokes and the tracks of rabbits.
She knew wounds though, and Angus’ was no longer enough to keep them where they were. As they talked, she began packing up their camp, whether they wished it or not, it was time to move on now.

The rain had finally settled into a soft drizzle, creating a gentle blanket of silence over the land. Under the shelter of the stand of pines the camp was up, and the fire had finally began to throw off some heat. Behind them the slopes of the mountains, before them, the edge of the great loch.
Feeling his plaid begin to warm, and seeing the steam begin to rise from his kilt, he stepped back from the fire and seated himself on a fallen log.

He stared at the nervous girl for a moment before simply saying…

"Which way now Moran?…"
_

A drip fell from a pine branch above her head and landed on the back of her neck, making her shiver. It had been harder and harder to ignore the voice in her head the closer they got to the loch.

She looked about trying to bring back memories long buried. She chewed at her lip as she thought. Finally, she stood, turning in a circle as she looked for landmarks she remembered from ten years before. She lined herself up with a “v” in the mountains behind her and pointed forward.
“There, away from the break in the mountains then it starts to slope down. You keep the trees on the left and follow the shore round. Our…” her voice faltered slightly, she cleared her throat and began again, “the house was the first one you came to.”
Again she argued briefly with the voice in her mind about why she was doing this, why she couldn’t just leave it buried and alone.
She sat herself down as near to the fire as she could, hoping it would warm the cold place inside and said, more casually than she felt, “should be impossible to miss.”

She blinked suddenly and looked up, like an animal that had scented something.
“…should be impossible to miss…” she murmured again to herself, looking hard at the pine trees behind Angus. “I think I remember something…”
Infused with a sudden energy, she started climbing one of the trees, stopped and scrabbled around at something for a few moments, then landed back on the ground with something grasped in her fist. She opened it to reveal the tattered scraps of ribbons, the colours muted with mud.
She looked at them, emotions passing over her face, settling into a nostalgic calm.
“I remember getting these,” she said, moving to sit close to the fire again, “I wanted to keep them safe as they were so pretty, so I hid them all the way out here… must have forgotten about them…” she smiled slightly, losing herself in memory. “My brother’s always teased me about the girly things my Da got me from passing traders…I thought they might take them, so I hid them.”
She stowed the tattered scraps of ribbon in the bag at her side, pushing them down to the bottom.
“Silly,” she said, a little embarrassed, “to keep such things.”

As they came closer, more memories rose up to engulf Moran. She seemed to walk through armies of ghosts and they got caught in her throat and choked her.

She’d doubted at times that she’d ever been this laughing small child, but she couldn’t doubt it now.

There was the tree she’d hidden behind to jump out at her brothers, there was a rock they’d dared each other to jump off, there was the place she'd made her first fire and nearly set alight the nearby bush, there was a good fishing spot and there was the small outcrop of rocks that had been turned into a castle in their imaginations.

She was aware of the silent presence of Angus, walking slightly behind her, but he felt further away and more insubstantial than the ghosts of her past.

She walked alone now, surrounded by her memories.

At last, they crested a slight rise in the land, a rise Moran remembered well now, she’d looked to it from home to watch her Da returning from his work, she’d run up it herself when hungry for dinner and she felt herself pulled forward now and ran up the last of the slope, feeling an eager, silly anticipation inside, she was home!

She stopped suddenly, the view in front of her hitting her eyes harder than a green thing’s dying blow.

“…oh…”

Along the shore of the loch, blackened ruined shells of buildings stood dotted about. The only movement came from the odd animal grazing in the ruins, overgrown grasses waving in the wind and the odd fluttering insect riding the breezes. Moran stood as if she’d been carved out of stone.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, maybe everything, maybe nothing, but the overgrown wreckage tore at her soul. Her face felt cold and absently she realised that tears were falling down her face, blurring the desolation into softness.

More memories crashed in on her and again she could hear the warning shouts, see her brother’s rushing in to find weapons against the coming attacks.
She whirled round, her eyes seeing nothing but the past and she honestly didn’t know if she was talking to Angus, stood behind her, or herself. Her voice sounded eerily calm.

“They came from that direction, the goblins, I heard the warning shouts but thought it was a joke, then my brothers ran up, grabbed their spare swords and told me to do the same…”
She turned again, walking slowly toward the first ruin on unfeeling legs. Angus walked behind her quietly. She moved her head, as if watching figures only she could see, then gasped silently and covered her mouth, talking from behind her fingers.
“I thought they wanted me to fight…” she pointed over to where the woods started.
“I thought there were more goblins coming from the woods, but…” she closed her eyes against her own guilt, “I thought they were telling me to fight but… they were telling me to flee!”
She put her hands over her ears, “I could hear them everywhere… there were screams, I could hear swords hitting each other, I thought more were in the woods, I didn’t know what to do…I couldn’t see my brothers, I didn’t know where my Da was…”
She turned slowly to the ruin and stepped up to what had once been the doorway.
She looked down where the earth floor had long since given way, collapsing into the cellar that had been dug out underneath.
“Didn’t know where he was,” she whispered, then took another step forward and fell into the hole before her.

Angus moved quickly, but when he reached the edge of the hole, he saw that she’d landed safely as if she’d meant to jump in the hole.
Most of the old cellar had been filled in with earth and the burned debris of the house above. Moran picked her way along one edge and above her, Angus followed her movements, figuring he could help her climb back out better from up here than joining her down there. Her voice drifted up to him as he watched her. She seemed to be talking to someone, telling them she was sorry, that she didn’t know. Every now and then, she’d search the earth, looking for something.

Something shone with a dull light amongst the earth and burnt wood. Insects buzzed away from her as she knelt in the mud, getting her knees dirty.
She moved soil aside as if it was a silken shroud and Angus watched as she slowly revealed a skeletal hand, the flesh long since eaten away by the soil and the denizens within. She moved the earth aside until half the forearm was uncovered and underneath the curving bones of the ribcage. The pitted corroded hilt of a sword peeked through the ribcage.
Moran stopped digging, held this bone hand gently, her other hand covering her face and the sound of her broken sobs echoed around the deserted loch.
Angus closed his eyes and stepped back slightly, giving her room for her grief.

Slowly the light faded on Loch Torriden.

He felt a moment of pure helplessness, his heart going out for the lass and her pain. Moving away so as to give her the privacy and time she needed, he looked about himself. The ruins of several buildings surrounded him. Choosing the lee of an old barn he began to set up camp…

Building the fire helped calm his internal confusion, as old memories sparred with current feelings. "Damn this" he thought. "I have punished myself enough. The druids have given me salvation for my past and I have spoken to the Lady and seen her smile…It's time to forgive and forget."

As the flames begin to catch so his pulse calms and his pain fades. "This is her time" he reminds himself, "Your worries are long in the past and you do yourself no favours by bringing them to tha surface when a friend needs your support and understandin'"

He plucks a blade of grass and chews. The familiar sensation calms him and he feels his heart settle and the slower beat of the land take over. Looking about him he glories in the highland landscape, the majesty of the mountains, the deep grandeur of the loch. The simple strength of the buildings and fields.

As the last light of the setting sun illuminates his stern features, a feeling of peace descends upon him and a sense of grace envelopes him as he connects with his land and his Goddess….

Sitting by the fire, he begins to sing quietly…
_

It was dark by the time Moran lifted her head. She felt empty now.

Empty and quite hungry and cold, her physical needs took over her grief and she looked at the bones she held for the last time. She raised the bones to her lips, whispered “goodbye”, kissed them and put them back on the earth, covering the exposed parts up with earth.

Standing, she spent the next few minutes figuring out how to get out of the collapsed cellar without clambering over the makeshift grave of her father. Finally, with muddy knees, she pulled herself over the lip of the hole and felt the wind on her face, drying it. The wind curled round her neck like a caress and as Moran straightened up and looked out over the Loch, she felt strange… lighter somehow, as if a part of her she’d dragged around for years had been buried with the bones beneath her feet. Her head felt clearer, quieter, emptier; she didn’t know quite how to explain it to herself, so she decided not to bother.

She rubbed at her face, smudging earth onto her nose and cheeks and sniffed loudly. Looking around, she wondered where Angus was, there was just one more thing she wanted to, needed to do.

The song that came to her ears was one she knew. It was not one that had been loudly declaimed around the recent campfires of the Gathering of Nations, but one that echoed it’s way through the memories of her childhood, a song of the ending of day, the coming of night and about setting all cares and worries aside till morning could shed light on them… or something like that… it could have been about cows and sheep, Moran felt she wasn’t sure of anything right now. She followed the sound and the warm glow she could see and soon stood in the uncertain shelter of an old barn listening until the song was over.

She sat quietly, within arms reach of Angus, but separated by the gulf of memories she still needed to share. She began speaking as if it hadn’t been several hours since they last spoke, continuing the tale she’d begun earlier.

“So… the goblins were coming, I could hear the fighting, although I couldn’t see anyone… the sounds echoed so it sounded like they were all around me. I couldn’t run into the woods as I thought goblins were in there too.”

She looked down at the hot drink that had been placed at her side and gave a small smile of thanks, picking up the vessel and wrapping her chilled fingers around it.

“There was only one place that felt safe…a place I used to go to whenever I needed somewhere quiet to be. At the end of the cellar were boxes that we stored the apples in. Between the boxes was a space that I could just fit and it was warm and smelt of apples and hay, I could feel the earth behind me and below me and the boxes either side of me… it felt safe, almost as safe as being on my Da’s shoulders. I went there. I ran into our house, pushed back the rug, pulled open the trapdoor and went to my safe place.”

Unconsciously, she drew her knees up to her chest, echoing the posture of all those years ago. The steam from the drink rose up to frame her face as she watched the flames through it.

“Then I heard the goblins…” her face looked up as she remembered, tracking them across the imagined floor above her, “they were walking across the floor of my house… I heard them pause… they must have seen the trapdoor, then I heard the wood creak open…” she paused and looked at Angus for the first time since sitting down, “heard… because I was too scared to open my eyes… I held the sword out in front of me best I could; it was too heavy for me really… and I kept my eyes shut coz I thought if I saw the goblin I’d be too scared to do anything…”

Her hands clenched and relaxed rhythmically around the drink she held as they had around the hilt of the sword, her eyes sightlessly watched the flames dancing.

“I heard them land in the cellar, they were in front of me. I knew what I had to do. I counted the slow steps they made until I knew they stood just a sword’s length away from me, then I struck…”

Her voice cracked and she drank deeply, trying to stop her hands from shaking. Clearing her throat, she forced her voice out, the tension making it strained and husky.

“I can still feel it… the sword went in… the blood went everywhere…” she unconsciously wiped at her face, struggling to tuck strands of hair behind her ear. “I could feel it running down my neck, I moved the sword like I’d been taught and then I knew the greenie was going to die…”
She drained the rest of her mug.

“I opened my eyes then, I thought I could cope with seeing a dying greenie, but…”

She went to put the mug down, but Angus took it from her numb hands, she raised her eyes and saw the end of her story reflected in his eyes. She thought he knew what she was going to say. She wanted to look away, she felt too exposed in his eye contact, but she couldn’t. She also needed to see his reaction to her story, the feelings that it would take a moment to hide. She didn’t look away, though it took all her remaining courage to do so.

“I’d stuck no greenie, it was my Da… he’d come to find me… he was the bravest, strongest… and he was dying on my sword… his blood was on my face and I heard this voice in my head telling me to run… so… I listened to it… I didn’t know what to do… I could barely understand what I’d done, but this voice sounded so certain, so sure… it told me what to do, so I did it… my father always wore two daggers at his belt, I took them and I ran… I thought if anyone ever knew what I’d done… I ran… and I never really stopped running… but I don’t want to run anymore…”

Her courage failed her at last, having been poured out through the honesty in her eyes, in words and in tears. The cold of the night pressing in around them set her shivering and once she started, she couldn’t stop. Wrapping herself up into a tight little bundle, she waited.

He sighed…staring for a moment into the fire.

Then he slowly rose to his feet and added some wood to the fire. As the glow brightened the ruined walls and soft waves of heat began to build, he walked heavily to the young woman's side. Gently, he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to where her blankets lay warming by the fire.

Seating himself next to her, he wrapped her in the blankets and held her firmly. He kissed her hair once and murmured…

"Sleep now Moran….It's time tae heal…"
_

It had been a strange time since going home.
She'd accompanied Angus more out of a loss for what to do next and a need not to be alone.
She hadn't expected a trip to an Underworld she'd only partly believed in.

She wondered what her brother's would have made of it, many times as a small child they'd teased her with taunts of what happened to naughty children. Seemed like they were partly right and now… she knew where she would end up if she didn't make amends for her father's murder.

Hence her current journey to find Fingal McCaullich. He was a Druid, he'd help her.
She'd asked several people, but no one had been able to satisfy her need for answers.
What did she have to do to make amends and not get sent to the Underworld? The Fallen Hero's seemed quite fair, all things considered, but she didn't want to spend an eternity there.

The trip had exposed a few parts of her personality to her. She was impatient it seemed, she didn't believe in anything that her senses couldn't perceive and she wasn't afraid of dying in battle.
Well, that was a start.

She'd made steps toward developing friendships with some of the women from other Clans. Shiraz & Naneth were already nice to her and she even made things up with Stella, able now to admire the woman's prowess in battle and ignore the jealous feelings that came from watching her flirting.
Quite a few of the women commented on her friendship with Angus, picking her up on her use of words.
"Oh aye, well Moran thinks he's all brave and stuff, doncha Moran?"
"Not when you make it sound all dirty like that I don't…"
She denied any feelings for the Highlander, what would be the point? He was old enough to be her Da, and she was just a child to him, some half-wild fawn to be coaxed out of hiding. Besides, he wasn't the only brave McCaullich she spent time with, she'd stayed up patrolling the borders of the camp with Culluch for some hours and he'd been glad to see her and everything. For someone so short, he barely topped her height, he was very brave indeed.

In the Realm of the Fallen Hero's she'd been so frightened she could taste her fear, a sharp metallic tang at the back of her mouth. She'd silently accepted that she would die there… and with that thought had thrown herself into the fight, quite literally once she'd been hurt too much to hold her sword and shield. Her Clan shouted at her to use herself as a human shield, so she did.
The Fallen Hero's jeered at her, telling her it wasn't honourable, but what was more honourable than saving your friends? Bernard wasn't a McCaullich, but he fought bravely at her side and was big enough to hide behind.

The pain from the fight faded in the praise from her clan, she was lifted from her feet in congratulations and had to turn away to hide her emotion.
Against all her expectations, she left that Realm and had no intentions of returning. She spoke long into the night with a keeper of the Realm, Don, with Kianan a priest of the Cerridwen and several others. None had a proper answer for her.

The next day she'd felt real fear as she lost sight of all her Clansmen during a huge fight she again didn't expect to survive.
She'd tried several times to get in between Kiara and Angus, managing to fail each time, falling prey to the Ancestor's powerful magics but that didn't stop her trying. The last time, she only knew Angus hadn't died by seeing the gouges her boots had made in the ground and the bruise on her arm as she'd been dragged bodily to a healer. Speed over comfort, that sounded like him.

No one could ease her worries about them, and it wasn't till she saw them waiting that she finally smiled and dried her tears.

Now she took steps to avoid a future she didn't want, it would probably involve making amends in some way. She was off to find Fingal, a Druid of her Clan, he would have wise words for her, what had she been doing anyway, seeking help from outside her Clan? McCaullich business demanded McCaullich aid.

She didn't care what she had to do, she had her Clan and that made her mighty

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