The autumn days had grown noticeably shorter and colder, and there was no doubt winter was fast approaching. I had been invited to stay at Sir Gordon’s estate for a few weeks, as the local bird season was now in full swing and he craved capable hunting company. He suggested that I stay until Harvest Feast, which is often said to be best celebrated in the Highlands where the old traditions are still upheld. As my division’s doctor had suggested some time away from the busy streets of Marlon, to recuperate after the injury I suffered in the latest campaigns, I gladly accepted.
Two weeks quickly passed, and the Feast was but ten days away. I whiled the days away hunting with my old friend and the afternoons with his charming extended family. His elderly aunt, Lady Gertrude, in particular loved entertaining me with tales of the estate and nearby village as they were when she was growing up here. The area has an old and rich history, which is fascinating in itself, and I could scarcely believe the lady’s exploits with her sister. To think they dared explore the ruins left behind by the old gentry in the wooded valley to the north… “The two old towers weren’t dangerous”, she told me, “but I would not like to spend the night there, and the locals don’t visit them given any choice.”