The thick cloak of pine shielded the earth from the warm summer heat, with only the occasional beams of God’s divine light piercing through the evergreens to elucidate patches of intricately-woven moss and thin-leaved shrubs amongst the fields of brown dirt and natural mulch. The distinct smell of campfire and pine needles wafted throughout the maze of woods, though all that was left of the culprit was smoldering ashes and coffee grounds. The men had already begun their expedition, though it was only midday, and not night like Laine had hoped.

They were not criminals per se, but the circumspection of Corey MacDonald had left them — as well as many others within the Northern Expeditionary Force, which had been repurposed by the Trìgàidheil to fight petty wars over the Lochs — on the run from the constant lingering threat that was the Trìgàidheil. They were few in number; perhaps only a few dozen men now-reluctantly bound in tartan wraps, or ghillie if they were feeling notably paranoid, which was a persistent trait for Laine, as he wasn’t one to be caught with his pants down — especially without his pistol. Ross, however, no longer feared who or what he once served, and proudly donned a blue overcoat with no red or yellow whatsoever. His MacDonald of Clanranald crest pin — which once sat proudly on his right breast — was no longer present, as it had been cast into the fire long ago, perhaps even before he was removed from his post as a soldier of fortune for the MacDonald Estate all those months ago.

Lochcarron was only a few more hours away, according to Laine, and the hill of which they were meant to park themselves on top of was maybe a few minutes closer. Ross was familiar with the area, as they were the same hills that he and his father had frequented in his formative years during their recurrent hunting trips. Ross and his father would often disappear for days up in the woods, and they were usually the happiest days of Ross’ life, as life at home was turbulent, and Ross never cared for private schooling or working backbreaking labor as a teenager, of which his grandfathers forced him to do both of on a frequent basis, often making Ross work in the Slumbay coal mines as a hauler, claiming that it improved his work ethic… Perhaps they were right, but that didn’t stop his feeling of excitement when his father came home from a long day of work and requested that Ross grab his bow and arrow from the shed, implying that adventure was only a couple of minutes distant. Ross held a bow in his hand now, and he had never felt happier, even despite the circumstances he and his loyals found themselves in.

As the pariahs continued their journey to the suburbs of the coastal industry town by the means of largely abandoned asphalt interstates and footpaths, they ran across a good number of ‘wanted’ posters of criminals, such as gangsters or extortionists, who would usually be operating freely without fear of prosecution, but now found themselves under the watchful eye of the local military, which now carefully policed the streets for any dens of sin or gang hideouts. It was one good thing that came from a despotic military, Ross supposed, but he would rather have it so criminals were simply dealt with by the people who wanted them gone, instead of a faceless military doing it for them. Among these posters calling for the death of a few dozen criminals, the party stumbled upon a particularly curious paper, which was stamped with the MacDonald of Clanranald crest. It read, in emboldened letters:

“DON’T LET OUR NATION FAIL. JOIN THE LOCAL FORCES.”

Below the text was a stylized photo of a Highlander in typical red-and-yellow regalia, which was commonplace in the army, who held a service rifle not dissimilar to the ones given to the soldiers of the former Northern Expeditionary Force. It was pretty to look at, but not much else. Ross tore it from the old electricity post where it hung and crumpled it up, throwing it onto the ground after he was satisfied with the damage he had created. The men then continued on with their voyage along the A890, where they would eventually depart the half-decimated road and head for the base of Sgorr Ruadh, where they would then hide out until the people of the Highlands needed them the most.