:max_bytes(150000):strip_icc()/sam-heughan-instyle-06-2000-6fe5e66db4ff4b1a8807dead03e97983.jpg?dateline=1710948355){kind=avatar}
It was a cold night, but not as bitter as it could have been, given it was winter in New England. There was only a gentle breeze and not much snow on the ground. Sensible people were home with their families at ten at night. Some would already be asleep. It was a Thursday, after all, so work tomorrow for many and staying up late wouldn't be on the schedule until the five o'clock bell on Friday - or however people with regular employment marked the time until it was theirs again.
The tent was pitched behind him. Inside were all the items he would need for a stay in the park for one night, maybe two, depending on how well or how badly the next three or so hours progressed. At best, he would likely be exhausted and want - no, need - to sleep. At worst -
Cam had dug a pit for the fire with a circumference of about three feet, surrounded by rocks and fueled with fallen branches, twigs, dead grass and crumpled pages of yesterday's paper. He had gathered more of the same and stacked it nearby so he could feed the fire as needed without having to leave the site. Kneeling in the damp soil, he broke another branch in half and added it to the fire, completing a loose structure that would be the core of the blaze. He was dressed warmly enough, not that it would matter later: jeans, hiking boots, flannel shirt, cream-coloured, cable-knit sweater, his black leather jacket, scarf loose around his neck. He had gloves nearby, in case they were needed. Crazy camper, he would seem to anyone who passed by. Though out here, at this time of night, in the cold, what were the chances he would have company?
He dragged his eyes from the flames to the night sky, currently clear and bright with stars. His breath puffed before him as he focused on the moon. It wouldn't be full until the twenty-seventh, which would have been a decent enough date to perform the ritual. He could have waited, but the Winter Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere started on Thursday, December 21st, at 10:27 PM, with a history and power all its own, and he was as ready as he was ever going to be.
Angus Cameron Iain MacKinlay had started the ritual earlier, in his head, anyway, by hiking to this spot, which he had discovered a few weeks ago, and setting up camp. He had cleared any snow, forest debris, rocks and walked slowly around the site, chanting simple words of protection under his breath, scattering torn leaves of fresh sage as he travelled. The tent was near the tree line, but not so close as to encourage anything or anyone to use as a hiding spot. There was a space of about ten feet around the tent, with a battery-powered light on a stick thrust into the ground on each side. Fewer shadows. The fire pit was about twenty feet away from the front of the tent
Tonight, he would bond with the claidheamh soluis - the 'glaive of light' - the sword Cameron had inherited from his father upon the man's death. It was his responsibility now, as the eldest male in the family line. The only male. He could curse the Fae who set up this bloody system, thinking they should know better than to leave such a thing to Fate like that, to a simple genetic randomization. It left out the female heirs so if there were no males in that generation, well... that was it for that particular Clan line.
He turned his attention back to the fire and added another piece of wood to the little log cabin form that burned cheerily before him. It was the shortest day of the year. The longest, darkest night of the year.
Aboot bloody time I got this doone.
Beside him was a gym bag, containing all he would need for the ritual. Sitting back from the fire, but remaining in a crouch, he unzipped the bag and removed each item with the reverence it deserved.
The tent was pitched behind him. Inside were all the items he would need for a stay in the park for one night, maybe two, depending on how well or how badly the next three or so hours progressed. At best, he would likely be exhausted and want - no, need - to sleep. At worst -
Cam had dug a pit for the fire with a circumference of about three feet, surrounded by rocks and fueled with fallen branches, twigs, dead grass and crumpled pages of yesterday's paper. He had gathered more of the same and stacked it nearby so he could feed the fire as needed without having to leave the site. Kneeling in the damp soil, he broke another branch in half and added it to the fire, completing a loose structure that would be the core of the blaze. He was dressed warmly enough, not that it would matter later: jeans, hiking boots, flannel shirt, cream-coloured, cable-knit sweater, his black leather jacket, scarf loose around his neck. He had gloves nearby, in case they were needed. Crazy camper, he would seem to anyone who passed by. Though out here, at this time of night, in the cold, what were the chances he would have company?
He dragged his eyes from the flames to the night sky, currently clear and bright with stars. His breath puffed before him as he focused on the moon. It wouldn't be full until the twenty-seventh, which would have been a decent enough date to perform the ritual. He could have waited, but the Winter Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere started on Thursday, December 21st, at 10:27 PM, with a history and power all its own, and he was as ready as he was ever going to be.
Angus Cameron Iain MacKinlay had started the ritual earlier, in his head, anyway, by hiking to this spot, which he had discovered a few weeks ago, and setting up camp. He had cleared any snow, forest debris, rocks and walked slowly around the site, chanting simple words of protection under his breath, scattering torn leaves of fresh sage as he travelled. The tent was near the tree line, but not so close as to encourage anything or anyone to use as a hiding spot. There was a space of about ten feet around the tent, with a battery-powered light on a stick thrust into the ground on each side. Fewer shadows. The fire pit was about twenty feet away from the front of the tent
Tonight, he would bond with the claidheamh soluis - the 'glaive of light' - the sword Cameron had inherited from his father upon the man's death. It was his responsibility now, as the eldest male in the family line. The only male. He could curse the Fae who set up this bloody system, thinking they should know better than to leave such a thing to Fate like that, to a simple genetic randomization. It left out the female heirs so if there were no males in that generation, well... that was it for that particular Clan line.
He turned his attention back to the fire and added another piece of wood to the little log cabin form that burned cheerily before him. It was the shortest day of the year. The longest, darkest night of the year.
Aboot bloody time I got this doone.
Beside him was a gym bag, containing all he would need for the ritual. Sitting back from the fire, but remaining in a crouch, he unzipped the bag and removed each item with the reverence it deserved.