​

https://preview.redd.it/h5r2hrjnl9381.png?width=1025&format=png&auto=webp&s=3b1ea19ad919c34c1417f9cf7d9f9df7cd272ebb

Ross beamed over the rolling grassy fields which painted the countryside, observing the flocks of ducks that dotted the magnificent blue sky that eventually led down into the great Ben More Assynt. The beauty of it all made him want to quit, then and there. Ross wanted to take a horse down these trails, to experience the phenomenon that was the Scottish Highlands without a high-caliber rifle on his back, but a bow-and-arrow instead. He wanted to be alone, to take in the glory of his homelands without an outward obligation from some hoighty family in the south ordering him to do so. He looked up from his spot amongst the tall grass — which still did not reach his height, even when sitting — and saw Laine at his flank, standing, admiring the beauty alongside him with an unlit cigarette placed tenderly between his pointer and middle finger. Laine took off his tammie, revealing his matted black hair.

“It was such a day of hinted rainbows and dissolving light, of fragile silences flooding towards infinity that I wished to be nowhere else, doing nothing else, in company of no one else. And I wanted it to be forever...”, Laine half-mumbled to nobody in particular while staring at the profound sight that was Ben More, fumbling for a matchbook that should have been in his coat pocket as he did so.

Ross remained silent, looked back to the land, and thought of what the future might hold for the Highlands.

Ross oggles at SC515, 517, and 527