The crunch o’1 snow behind me caused me to pause along the road home. The night was dark and still, but the full moon and the myriads o’ bright stars in the sky above me illuminated the path home with a soft, silver glow. As I turned to see where the sound had come from, I  glanced through the trees to either side o’ me, wondering if I should ready ma2 gun.  

A raven’s harsh caw broke the silence. Through the trees, dancing with light step upon the miniature hillocks and drifts o’ snow that paved the ground beneath the snow-laden spruce trees, was a wee lassie no more than ten years o’ age. Riotous raven-black curls framed the bonnie lass’ pixie face, and a soft white dress clothed her thin frame. An image o’ a similar lassie with riotous red curls flashed through ma mind as I watched the wee sprite. I stood there,  the deer on ma shoulders weighing heavily. 

Adjusting the dead creature more comfortably on ma shoulders, I walked on, resisting the urge to call out to the wee lassie. I remembered what Seanmhair3 had told me when I was a  bairn4, “Dinnae5 go talking to the fair folk, laddie. Leave them to their errands, and mind yer6 ain7. Dinnae poke yer wee nose where it dinnae belong.”  

I ken8 without a doubt that that wee lassie was one o’ the fair folk; there were no lasses o’ her make in any o’ the villages around here.  

There was once, but I shoved any remembrance o’ bonnie red curls, and laughing voices out o’ ma head, and continued on. The raven croaked again, landing on the lassie’s shoulder with a squawk and flying off again. Quickening her footsteps, the lass hurried on after the raven. 

Ma warm breath formed little ice crystals on ma beard, as I once more stopped to adjust ma load, then trudged on through the hardening snow. Skipping out o’ the trees, and out on to the path a little way in front o’ me, the wee sprite turned and smiled at me, cheeks, lips, hands,  and bare feet all red with cold. An answering smile twitched beneath ma frosty beard. 

The raven squawked impatiently, tugging on one o’ the fairy child’s ebony curls, urging her on. Giving me one last smile, the wee fairy lass retrieved her hair from the raven’s beak and continued on.  

A chilling breeze began to blow as I exited the forest. The soft lights of the village houses came into view, the fairy lass just a few steps ahead o’ me.  

Ach9 the poor wee lassie must be freezing, I thought, as the wind began to moan, tossing the fat white snowflakes that fell from the sky, and catching the sprite’s white skirt and whipping it about.  

We followed the village’s main road to the end, the fairy lass and I. The smell o’ woodsmoke filled our noses and the soft candle-light that leaked out from behind closed shutters dazzled our eyes. We both left the village behind as the stars grew dimmer and the snow blew harder. A little way down the snow covered road, a house built o’ rough stone and timber came into view. It was surrounded by tall old trees, its windows shuttered, dark and silent against the white snow. There was a time when the house before me was wreathed with light and soft hands would open the door to welcome me home from a hunt. Ma heart ached as I reluctantly lifted a  heavy hand to open the door.  

“Ye’re10 a fool, Seamus Muir,” I said, opening the door, “pinning over things you  cannae11 change.” 

Looking up the trail at the wee fairy lass, I ducked into the house and shut the door. The embers o’ the dying fire lit the inside o’ the stone cottage with a somber glow. Nothing like the cheery blaze that had greeted me only two seasons before.  

Dropping the dead deer on the flag stones in front o’ the hearth, I stirred the embers gently coaxing them back to life. I added several new logs to the fire, then just sat there, exhausted. There were more comfortable chairs all around me, ones I’d carved with ma ain hands, chairs the bonniest two lassies the world had ever seen, had once sat in. But they were empty, and the effervescent light once shed by ma two red-haired lassies no longer illuminated the small cottage. 

Burying ma face into ma hands, I sat motionless before the fire, the warm flames beginning to melt the ice crystals on ma beard. “Ye’re a bumbling glaikit12, Seamus,” I  murmured, scrubbing ma face with ma hands, “Ye13 ken the clock cannae rewind itself.” 

I ken I should dae14 something, but I remained rooted to ma spot on the hearthstones.  Memories flooded over me as I sat there, gazing with unseeing eyes at the copper pot that hung before me on the iron fire-hook.  

In ma memories, ma ain bonnie wife stood before the fire tending a stew o’ tatties15 and venison, singing softly under her breath as she did so. 

“The wee birdies sing and the wildflowers spring, 

And in sunshine the waters are sleeping 

But the broken heart it kens nae never spring again, 

Through the waeful may cease frae their grieving.”16

The sound o’ pattering feet interrupted the chorus before it even began, as ma ain wee daughter grabbed her mither17 about the knees, sticking her leather-clad foot out for inspection. 

“Look, mither, aren’t they bonnie!” 

“Aye, lassie they’re the bonniest wee shoes I ever saw,” ma wife said, smoothing back  ma daughter’s riotous red curls to kiss her on the forehead. 

“Isnae18 a kiss for me,” Ma ain happy voice sounded in ma memory, as I wrapped a  beautiful red tartan shawl around her shoulders. I’d traded nearly a winter’s worth o’ furs for the shawl and the shiny black leather boots ma daughter now wore. But it was worth it to see the delight on their faces.  

A broad smile broke over ma wife’s face as she fingered the expensive cashmere. “O’  course, there is a kiss for ma ain wonderful husband!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around ma neck and pressing apple-red lips to ma ain paler ones.  

“Me too, me too,” ma daughter cried, holding her hands out to be lifted up into our  embrace.  

“Are ye nae19 too heavy to be held so?” I asked, scooping her up. 

“Nae, faither20 eight years old isnae so heavy as nine will be.”  

“Aye, ma bonnie lassie, ye willnae be too heavy for me to hold,” I promised, kissing her pink cheeks.  

“An’ me,” ma wife asked, teasingly. 

“Ye willnae be too heavy for me to hold, either, ma bonnie wife,” I said, wrapping ma free arm around her waist and drawing her close. 

I always ended ma recollections there. At the point in time when I had been the happiest,  before death had seen fit to carry away ma bonnie lassies. Even the Auldwife21 with all her herbs and medicines couldnae save them from death’s grasping clutches, and I’d buried ma wife and daughter last spring before the ground had even thawed.  

Standing up, I turned away from the fire, and crossed the room to the bed I’d made, and ma wife once decorated, and opened the large oaken chest at the end o’ it. From inside the chest, I lifted out the beautiful red shawl and a pair o’ shiny black boots.  

Ma lassies had nae time to enjoy these, but maybe the wee fairy lass would, I thought.  The wee sprite had brought to mind ma ain lost treasures, her riotous black curls and mischievous eyes, a darker version of ma lost bairn. Ma daughter would have liked to ken that her shoes would be worn by a fairy lass, and ma wife wouldnae have let a child roam the woods in the cold without proper clothing.  

The wee lassie couldnae have gone far, I thought, rising. With the red shawl and the shoes in hand I left the stone cottage and headed up the trail in the direction o’ the Auldwife’s house. Seanmhair’s warning echoed in ma ears as I walked, “dinnae poke yer nose were it  dinnae belong, laddie.” But I continued on up the snow covered trail.  

The snow continued to eddy around me, blown hither and thither by the tireless wind, as I  followed the wee sprite’s footprints in the snow.  

The Auldwife lived alone, with her cat and her herbs, and I often checked on her after ma wife had died, taking over ma wife’s self-imposed task o’ making sure the old Auldwife had enough food to eat and firewood to burn. I would visit her tonight as well.  

A raven crowed loudly on the path ahead o’ me, announcing its presence. As I rounded the last bend in the trail, the Auldwife’s cottage came into view, a faint trickle o’ smoke rising from the rough stone chimney.  

The fairy lass stood on the path just ahead o’ me, cradling a faint ball o’ flickering pale blue light in her hands. I moved forward slowly, willing the wee fairy nae to startle and run like a frightened deer. The lassie dinnae startle and when I reached her, I crouched low and wrapped the poor wee thing, all red with cold, around with the red tartan shawl. I then picked up her wee frozen feet, one by one, and clad them each in a boot of shinning leather.  

When I looked up from ma task, a great beautiful smile had spread across the fair child’s  face. She petted the soft cashmere o’ the shawl with one hand, and then stuck her foot out one at  a time to examine each bonnie leather boot, her smile growing bigger all the time. Imprinting a  happy kiss on ma bearded cheek, the fairy lassie bounded away, one hand holding the soft red  shawl close and the other cradling the gently flickering orb. The raven, which until now had  been seated above the cottage’s door, swooped down to join her, croaking loudly. When the wee  sprite reached the edge o’ the clearing she waved a wee hand and vanished into the forest, the  dark spruces and pines swallowing her up.  

I stood there for a long time afterwards, listening to the fading crunch o’ shoes on snow,  and thinking. It was a long while before I walked the last few short steps to the Auldwife’s door.  

It was open and the hinges creaked as I pulled it open still farther and stepped inside.  Herbs hung from the ceiling in great bunches and cast strange shadows on the walls and floor.  The fire had only a few smoldering embers left in it and the room was cool. The Auldwife lay in  bed asleep, her cat curled up at her feet. 

“It’s me, Auldwife,” I said crossing the room to stoke the fire, but only the cat responded to ma words, raising its head to stare at me with sharp green eyes. I had the fire crackling merrily in a few minutes, and I walked over to the Auldwife’s bed and gazed down at her sleeping face. I ken then what errand the wee fairy lass had been on.  

The Auldwife’s winkled face was pale and cold, and the moonlight that spilled through  the window above the Auldwife’s bed dyed her white hair silver and played across the faint vestiges o’ a smile on her shriveled lips.  

“So ye were a will o’ wisp22 were ye lassie,” I said softly, staring out the window into the  dark snowbound forest beyond, “I wish ye God-speed on your journey, wee one.” 

Glossary of Scottish Brogue 

1) O’ - Of 

2) Ma – My  

3) Seanmhair – Grandmother  

4) Bairn – Baby, Child  

5) Dinnae – Do not, Don’t  

6) Yer – Your  

7) Ain – Own 

8) Ken – To Know 

9) Ach – An exclamation used to show surprise, pleasure, sympathy, or regret. 10) Ye’re – You’re  

11) Cannae – Cannot, Can’t 

12) Glaikit – Stupid  

13) Ye – You  

14) Dae – Do  

15) Tatties – Potatoes  

16) The third verse of “The Bonnie Banks o’ Loch Lomond” 

17) Mither – Mother  

18) Isnae – Is not, Is there no… 

19) Nae – Not, No 

20) Faither – Father  

21) Auldwife – Old Wife  

22) Will o’ Wisp – A Scottish fairytale creature that is said to predict death.

                                                                  
MIRIAM MOCKETT is a sophomore pursuing a degree in fine arts. An Alaskan Resident of ten years, Miriam is the second of four sisters. In her free time (of which there is little) Miriam enjoys writing on the various novels she has in the works.