"Those God damn stones," was what I was thinking as I dodged gun fire in the forest of Culloden. It was early morning and the fog was thick in the forest, so thick in fact that I didn't see the fallen tree in front of me.
I hit the ground hard and instantly knew that my knee was scrapped, "Fuck."
"No time for complaining. We'll look at it when it is safe," Nicky stated as she cleared the tree without a problem. Being raised in New Zealand meant that her tramping skills were amazing while mine were just subpar. She reached down a hand to help me up. "Hurry, the lads will be waiting for us at the river with our horses."
With that we were off running again through dense forest. Over fallen trees through thorny bushes only stopping behind rocky outcrops long enough to catch our breath.
One and a half miles from the moor to Clava Cairns. One and a half miles on foot. In long skirts. This sucked balls.
Welcome to Scotland 1745.
