So this is my second CTM fanfic, so be a little easy on me! I wanted to write about Shelagh's past,and what happened after her mother died. I'm not sure if I should continue or not, but I've given the first chapter a go. I imagined that Shelagh had a younger sister, and her name is Constance, (although Shelagh calls her Connie, and 'little calf'). So yeah, I hope you enjoy this.

There are some Scottish translations at the bottom of the page.

All rights for characters go to: the amazing Jennifer Worth, the wonderful Heidi Thomas, and portrayal of character goes to the fantastic Laura Main.

WARNING! If ABUSE to kids or VIOLENCE is a TRIGGER for you do NOT READ this fiction. This fiction is RATED T for now, but some may consider it to be RATED M. You have been WARNED.

CHAPTER ONE:

PLACING THE SEEDS

"Come on, Connie, we're late!" I call, tugging wee Connie through the misty field, towards our house. How could I be so stupid thinking we would be quick?! Now Faither's going to hurt us! Poor, Connie, she doesn't understand. Why doesn't Faither get that? Why couldn't he just hurt me, and just leave Connie alone?

"What for, Shelagh?" She asks me in her wee voice. He grimy fingers slip from mine, as she reaches down to pick a daisy from the dew coated grass. She tugs off a pale milk petal, and watches as it dances, carried by the death cold wind, to the ground.

"Faither said we had to be home by 6:00 sharp! Dinnae dawdle, Connie!" I reach down and grab the hand empty of the flower, and try to speed up her wee legs. She pouts, and stomps as we walk.

"Mither will tell him!" Connie calls proudly, before asking in the tinniest of voices, "Where is Mither, Shelagh?"

"Oh, Constance." I sigh. How many times will have to explain this? She can't come back. It's nae like those times when Mither used to go on those long walks, and I'd tell Connie again and again, 'she'll be back soon'. Mither can't come back. Nae this time. Nae from her grave, "She's nae coming back."

"But she said she would show me how to make a daisy chain!" Connie whines, yanking her hand from mine, and shoving the flower in my face.

"Come on, Connie. Let's get back. Ye may be allowed to have some hot milk for pudding." I tempt her, still worried about what Faither shall do when we arrive home. What if he's drunk again? I couldn't put up with another night of that. I ended up sending Connie to Mrs Singleir, our next door neighbour. The memory is nae a kind one, as I ended up as Faither's punching bag. Bruises are now dappled over my body, but it hurts less knowing that Connie isn't hurt.

"Can I really have hot milk?" Connie asks, speeding up slightly at the thought of hot milk.

"Aye, if ye'r a good girl." I tell her, pulling her to a jogging pace.

We run slowly over the muddy path that leads to the door of our house, careful nae to slip on the water. Connie nearly falls into a murky brown puddle. Luckily I catch her, and carry her to the door.

I lift hand to the door, hovering my fisted palm in front of the splitting green paint. Slowly I tap the door, and close my eyes, knowing that Faither will be cross.

"A'm cold, Shelagh. I want my sweater." Connie snivels, shivering. Faither took our sweaters and warm skirts away just after Mither left. They reminded him to much of Mither, so they had to go.

I tug off my cardigan, and wrap it around Connie's shivering form. Giving her a wee smile, as I bend down to her height.

"There." I exhale, smoothing the rough material of my cardigan over her boney shoulders, "Now you're nice and warm, wee calf." I whisper, giving her fragile form a quick hug, before standing.

Lumbering foots steps make their way towards the door. I guide Connie gently, so she is standing slightly behind me.

The foot steps come slowly, and each thud seems to make my heart throb heavily.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

With each thud, my fear grows, and thickens into the nauseating emotion of being petrified. And my heart begins to ache with fear. Scared flutters run all over my body, as the foot steps stop in front of the door. Then the door is forced open, and Faither stands in front of us, a knife beared in his left hand.

Scottish translation for those who need it.
A'll: I'll
A'm: I'm
A've: I've
Aye: yes
Bairn: baby
Dinnae: don't
Faither: father/daddy
Grandmither: grandmother
Migin' beast: horrible beast
Mither: mother
Na: no
Nae: not
Ne'er: never
Stoap: stop
Wee: little
Ye: You
Ye'r: you're
Yer: your
Ye'v: you've

So that's what I've got so far. I hope you liked it..! I enjoyed writing it. I'm going to play it by ear, and see how many of you amazing CTM readers/writers read and review it. Depending on how many people like it is how I will write it.

If you have time please review and I hope you didn't waste your time reading this!