Page 104 of Some Like It Scot
A gentle breeze answered with a whiff of honeysuckle in the air, and I breathed it in. Grandpa would have loved this place. The quiet, the vastness, the earthy feel of connecting to nature and history. Perhaps the faeries played their games with me as I moved up thehillside, stopping at several points to take photos or videos, but when I finally reached the summit, I’d gone much farther than I’d expected.
Down below on one side, I could still make out the tip of Craighill’s tower, but on the other side, the loch spread out and widened. In the distance, a cliff branched outward like an arm into the water, revealing caves beneath with water crashing up against them. I moved forward, taking a few more photos and holding my hat during my video as the wind whipped around me.
And then, up ahead, in a little flock, waddled one of the goals of my walk.
Puffins.
I slipped as close as possible to the stocky little birds, their black-capped heads bobbing as they huddled together near the cliff’s edge. A strange, almost comical, collection of sounds emerged from the birds. Like they were having some sort of humorous gurgling conversation with one another. It fit them.
As a few puffins flew in to join the rest and proceeded to stumble into their landing, I felt an immediate kinship to these creatures. Another took off nearby with an equally bumbling liftoff. Yep. I’d found my spirit animal.
“Aren’t you guys the cutest things ever!” I drew closer, with my camera taking in as much as I could. And, I suppose, most Edwardian ladies—and maybe even Lizzie Bennett—didn’t crouch, because the attempt stretched dangerously at the cloth of my walking dress. (A note for a future video.)
The cliff view in the background with the puffins in the foreground really made for some spectacular shots. Brett would love them.
A few of the larger puffins caught sight of me and waddled closer, giving me amazing pictures of their unique coloring of black, white, and that interesting orange. Another landed nearby, tripping along in a way I understood down to my big feet.
And then... their comical conversations became frantic.
I stood from my crouched position as they scattered away from me, some taking off and leaving the ledge, others dispersing in opposite directions from one another.
“Hey, I’m not scary,” I called, stepping a little closer, and they scattered even faster, a few staggering into flight. “In fact, we have a few things in common. Funny-looking. Clumsy.”
They continued their retreat. Hmm... I’d heard puffins were social and curious. Not skittish. Maybe it was the hat?
And then I heard it. A deep snort-like growl behind me. I froze and closed my eyes, drawing in a slow, deep breath. Keeping my movements small and deliberate, I turned toward the sound.
Air stopped in my lungs.
Standing less than twenty feet away, growing larger the longer I stared, was a Highland cow. His rust-colored fluffy coat rippled over him as the wind hit it. He stared back at me, with the one black eye not covered by the wooly bangs dangling across his forehead. Handlebar horns protruded from his fuzzy head as he lowered it a little, stomped the ground, and offered another intimidating snort.
Although referred to rather adorably as a hairy coo, the way his cold eye bore into my face, I wasn’t getting any “adorable” vibes from him at all.
And was this Highland cow (I refused to refer to such a terrifying beast as the sweet-sounding “hairy coo”) the same one Lachlan had referenced? What was his name? Seamas?
I shifted a step back, much too aware of the cliff not too far behind me, as the puffins took off in quick succession, their little wings doing much more than my hat would do for me.
I took a step to my right with the purpose of making a run for it back down the hill, but Seamas stomped a few steps closer in that direction, so I stopped again. Okay, did you do the same things with Highland cows as bears? I raised my arms into the air to make myself bigger.
Nothing.
So I roared.
He flinched and then snorted but didn’t move.
I roared again.
He lowered his head, and a chill moved up my body... just before he charged directly toward me. In the distance—as I saw my life flash before my eyes for the... sixth time—I heard a dog barking, but I didn’t have time to contemplate the direction.
I stumbled with the grace of a puffin a few more steps back, trying to gauge when to jump to the side in order to dodge those horns, when the foot I’d placed my weight on slipped.
And then the rest of me followed.
Over the edge of the cliff.
I wasn’t dead.
That was my first thought as I blinked my eyes open. Because, from all I’d read about heaven, pain wasn’t a part of it, and the ache rising up my backside, not to mention in my ankle, confirmed a very earthly habitation.
