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Updated: July 6, 2026
More was my surprise when, leading my horse round to the front, feeling my way in the dark by memory, I found the oak door open and my father, dressed, standing in the light of it. A young sgalag came running to the reins, and handing them to him, I stepped into the light of the door, my bonnet in my hand.
I found the glen wrapped in mist, the Gearran hamlet empty of people, Maam, Kilblaan, Stuchgoy, and Ben Bhuidhe presenting every aspect of desolation. A weeping rain was making sodden all about my father's house when I galloped to the door, to find him and the sgalag the only ones left. The old man was bitter on the business.
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