Snow dusted the Highlands, a white shawl draped over the shoulders of the earth, as Moira MacDonald made her way to the stables. The chill bit through her woolen cloak, but she walked with a sturdy grace, her breath forming little clouds that danced away into the crisp morning air. She entered the warmth of the barn where her charges, a motley collection of creatures both mundane and slightly less so, greeted her with snorts, whinnies, and an assortment of chirps.
The falcon perched high in the rafters called down to her, a sharp sound that cut through the chorus of animal greetings. “Good morning to you too, Ailean,” she chuckled, slipping off her glove and extending her arm. The bird swooped down with precision, landing gently on her offered forearm.
She stroked his feathers with a gentle touch, whispering softly in Gaelic. Ailean tilted his head, listening intently as if understanding every word. To Moira’s ears came a series of clicks and whistles from the falcon that no ordinary person could comprehend, but to her, it was as clear as any spoken language.
A soft nicker drew Moira’s attention to the far stall where a dappled mare named Brìgh shuffled impatiently. “I haven’t forgotten you,” Moira said with a smile, making her way over and rubbing the horse’s muzzle affectionately.
The stable was alive with sounds and smells; hay rustled underfoot as goats butted heads playfully. Each animal had its own story, its own quirks and personalities that Moira had come to know intimately. Her gift allowed for more than simple communication; it was an exchange of trust and understanding between species.
Later in the morning sun that managed to break through the heavy clouds, Moira sat outside on an old wooden bench with a squirrel chittering away in her lap. She offered it an acorn which it accepted with eager paws.
Her calm presence seemed to radiate outwards like ripples in water, reaching every creature around her. It was in these moments that Moira felt most at peace – surrounded by nature’s chorus, each note a familiar friend.
A dog bounded over from across the field – a shaggy beast of no particular breed – barking happily as it approached. Moira laughed as it came close enough for ear scratches.
“Always full of energy, aren’t you, Hamish?” she remarked as the dog leaned into her hand.
This tranquil scene was soon interrupted by the crunching of boots on snow. Dougal MacKenzie, a burly man known for his less-than-pleasant demeanor but respected for his dedication to their community’s safety, approached with an envelope sealed with wax – unmistakably from the Witches Council of Scotland.
Moira’s heart quickened just slightly as Dougal handed over the missive without much fanfare or expression. She looked at it curiously; this could only mean… But she would find out soon enough. For now, she let Hamish’s joyful barking and Ailean’s sharp calls pull her back to this moment of serenity among her beloved animals.
Moira turned the envelope over in her hands, feeling the weight of its contents. Dougal’s gaze lingered on her face, searching for a hint of what news it might bring. The council’s seal pressed into the wax was a somber reminder that this was no ordinary correspondence.
She broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, scanning the words that would alter her path forever. The Council had chosen her as a delegate to the New World – an honor, but one that carried with it the weight of responsibility and inevitable farewells.
Dougal watched her, a tightness in his jaw betraying his anxiety. “What does it say?”
“They’ve chosen me,” she murmured, the words feeling heavy on her tongue. “I’m to go to America.”
His face darkened like a storm cloud rolling over the glen. “And what of me? Did they choose me as well?”
She shook her head, the sorrow in her eyes reflecting his disappointment. “No, Dougal. It’s just me.”
His hands balled into fists at his sides, a mix of emotions swirling in his gaze – anger, sadness, and an unmistakable trace of fear. “So they expect you to leave everything behind? Leave… us?”
Moira stepped closer to him, reaching out to touch his arm. His muscles were tense under her fingers. “I have no choice in this matter, you know this, please don’t be angry with me” she said softly.
“You always have a choice.” His voice was gruff, barely more than a whisper as he looked away from her.
“Not this time.” Moira’s voice held a firmness that matched his own resolve. “I can’t disobey the council, you of all people should know that!”
Dougal’s anger was palpable; it hung between them like the mist that sometimes blanketed the Highlands. He wanted to fight this decision, to rage against those who would tear them apart.
“It’s not fair,” he spat out. “You belong here – with your animals, with your land… with me.”
“I know.” Her voice was a gentle caress against the harshness of his own. She stepped forward again and placed her hands on his chest, feeling his heart beating strong and steady under her palms.
He looked down at her, his anger melting into a pained resignation as he wrapped his arms around her. They stood there in silence, sharing a moment of unspoken understanding amidst the chaos of an uncertain future.
Dougal’s breath steadied, his rigid stance softening as Moira’s hands rested on his chest. The raw edge of his anger dulled to a quiet ache, one that echoed the sorrow in Moira’s own heart. She knew the land and its creatures were not the only ties that would be strained by her departure; the bond between her and Dougal was as tangible as the frost on the Highland heather.
“I cannae promise it’ll be easy,” she whispered, her breath a warm puff against the cold air, “but I will find a way for you to follow. I’ll set up a home for us in this New World.”
He closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. The thought of Moira facing the unknown alone gnawed at him, but her determination was a balm to his unsettled spirit. When he opened his eyes again, they held a glimmer of resolve.
“Aye,” he said, voice gruff with emotion.
She nodded, her expression solemn. “I’m just the first to go. The path will be laid out for others to join. And I will ensure there’s a place for you by my side.”
The notion of being separated by an ocean was daunting, yet Dougal knew Moira possessed a strength that rivaled the ancient stones of their homeland. If anyone could carve out a new existence across treacherous waters, it was her.
“You better,” he managed a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but spoke volumes of his trust in her.
She returned the smile with one of her own, resilient and reassuring. “You ken me well enough to know I’m not one for leaving things half-finished.”
He pulled her into an embrace then, the kind that spoke of long winters and shared warmth, of silent promises made without words. They stood there for a moment longer, two souls intertwined amidst the whispering winds that carried both uncertainty and hope.
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