Eleanor stood in her bedroom, staring across the moor to the distant hills. The central height was Dundreich, opposite Wardlaw on the opposite side of the pass, the original Deepsyke Slap, before people transferred the name to the road over the moss. These two peaks dominated the range, neither much above two thousand feet yet appearing like sentries glooming over the moor.
Everything here has a name and a meaning, Eleanor told herself. Wardlaw, the watcher’s hill, where men stood to watch for approaching enemies. She knew the old lords of the Wardlaw Valley would have built a beacon fire on the summit, ready to light if English raiders appeared. Now, it was merely a hill with a memory of long-gone animosity. I wonder what Dundreich means?
Everything here has a name and a meaning, Wardla
