*Cait*
High on the ridge overlooking my father’s pastures, the wind whips sharp. My braid snaps against my back as I stand beside Rory, favoring his wounded leg. The pink horizon spreads wide and the land is familiar beneath. The rolling moor, thick forest, and farther away, the curves of the loch.
But it’s the smoke that steals the breath from my lungs.
A dark pillar, rising angry and fast. There’s too much smoke for a cook fire, too windy of a day for any planned brush burn.
Smoke billows black above the tree line, just past the glen where the nearest village lies. Not strangers. Not far-off neighbors. Our village.
“My God,” I breathe. “That’s near the north bend. The village.”
“Where Duncan and I taught the boys to shoot a longbow?” Rory asks, tears brimming his eyes.
“Aye.”
