Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's been mine since before I were born.  I've lived up here alone for a good part of my life;  there's been times I go for a year or more wi'out seein another soul, save for shearing season, and that's my preference.

I've no use for people.

People are noisy.

My hill is quiet and the sounds of the creek and the rain and the sheep all fade to nothing in my head.  Nature sits fine with me, I've no quarrel with it.

It's the unnatural things that shove a burr up me arse.

And so I stay away from the village and the people who live in it, comin' down off the mountain just long enough to take care of business and have a few ales of a fortnight.  And Glasgow.  Glasgow is the fucking armpit of Satan but I do what I have to do there when I'm called.  It's not often, but going down to that city with its noise and speed and goddamn neverending motion is always enough to send me back home wit'me sporran sideways.

But the hill is quiet and there's whiskey atop the cupboard, and sooner or later the ringin in me ears stops and my hands quit shaking and that sickenin rattle in my nerves settles enough that I can feel the silence again.

That's where I live.  The silence in between it all.

And t'second a boot other than me own crushes a leaf on the upside of this mount, that silence shatters.

The whole bloody thing shattered that day when the first storm o'ta season began to brew on the horizon.

It brought somethin with it that tipped me quiet little life into the bucket, and nothin's been quiet since.

Nobody comes up the mountain unless they've business with me, which were why at first glance I thought I were seein a specter when that woman appeared on the crest.

Goddamn woman.  I knew what she were doing but I'd expected them t'send a man to do the job.  I'd have kicked his arse back down the hill and been shut of it, but no, they went and sent a goddamn yappy female t'scrabble about in the dirt, lookin for the minerals that ever'body and their fuckin granny knows are up here.

But she were lookin in the wrong place.

I wasn't gonna be the one ta'tell her.

I just wanted her gone...but fuck me if she didn't go and catch my damn fool eye.

Even from a distance she were a noisy bitch, talkin' to herself like she were of two minds.  I thought at first that she were crazy, maybe lost up here on the mountain - but after watchin' her for a couple days it become evident what she were doing.  The fuckin suits that'd been callin me for months had finally decided to just sidestep around me and sent someone.  Soil testing, checkin' the dirt with a truck boot full of equipment she never could make work quite right.

I knew there was something in the ground up here, always knew it.  I could taste it in the water that runs from the top of the mountain.  Every soul in County Claighe knows it's there, but not a one cares.  Tis' our home, we've no interest in its worth to anyone but our own children.

And now this woman was up here diggin' around in the mud in her red boots and ridiculous coat, fallin' on her face more often than she were on her feet.

Damn city folk, always needin' rescuing.  Because a storm were coming, and she didn't seem to know this hill was the last place she should be when it hit.

I'd been watchin' her for days.  She were a pretty thing I suppose, pleasant enough of face to give a second look to.  But she were tall and looked strong, not like a hard whack on ta' bottom would snap her in two.

She'd survive a hard winter.  That were an attractive thing in these parts.

But she'd bitch an' moan from October to May, I'd bet me arse on it.

She was set to squealin' like a goddamn adder had her by the teat when I edged up on her on the fifth day, watchin' from the trees like I'd taken to doing.  I'd caught her stripped down to her skin by the creek the day before, naked and freezing and tryin' ta wash the mud off herself while I stood less than the length of her truck away from her.  She ne'er saw me and by the time she were done squealing at the cold rain on her bare arse and knockin' her dry clothes into the creek twice, I knew this woman weren't going to make it long enough to turn in whatever sort of reports she were compiling.

The cold or the mountain would get her, one way or ta'nother.

And if they didn't, I would.

But on this day it was the storm that should have either sent her home or did her in, and when she turned round to look into the woods like she'd heard a wraith, I just stood there, not carin' if she saw me or no.  But she didn't, I dunno if her eyes were bad or if she just had too much rain in 'em.  She looked right at me and then turned round to look behind her.

Geejus fuck she were stupid.

But her eyes were china blue even in the dark drizzled overcast of the oncoming storm, and that same damn itch I'd felt the day before while she scrubbed up at the creek started tuggin' at me again somewhere up under me kilt.

Fuck.

I stepped out into the clear and let her see me.

That were me first big mistake.

To be continued...