The early morning fog had gradually dissipated as the day progressed, but remnants of it seemed to linger in the air. It was a cold, cloudy day, but most of the men and women in the village barely noticed it through the sweat they worked up from their daily work, rowing boats, hauling nets, milking cows, baking bread and tending to their children, among other things. It was good, hard, solid work, from dawn (or even before dawn) until there was no more light in the day. This rigid schedule, however, did not apply to the youngest brother of the Fraiser clan, Beathan.

His day started just as early as any fisherman's or farmer's, feeding, watering, and tending to the horses in the stables under his care. Depending on how fast he completed his duties, though, and depending on whether or not there was need by the other villagers to borrow one of his horses, he occasionally found himself with pockets of time when there was little to do. Sometimes, it gave him a precious hour or two to spend riding one of the horses he cared for, putting them through the necessary paces to keep them in shape, or allowing him to work on breaking particularly recalcitrant colts. Once in a while, though, there would be little for him to do but dawdle and daydream. Today was one of those days.

That evening, there was an hour or two free before dinner time, for him and for his horses, and he chose to spend it climbing up out of the valley the village was cradled in, up the rise that overlooked Loch Ness. While there was no snow on the ground, the terrain was still treacherous, littered with craggy rocks, frozen soil, and slicks of ice that were unfriendly to hooves. Beathan himself nearly slipped once or twice climbing up the hill, but once he reached the summit, it was instantly worth it. The sharp boulders gave way to a smooth, grassy plateau. Near the village, a forest comprised primarily of Scots pines mixed in with oak, birch, rowan, and aspen trees seemed to stand guard over the people residing there. From above, Beathan could barely make out the handful of stragglers who were late for dinner, some of them running through the village lanes, others walking slowly, alone and in pairs. The height and distance he viewed them from shrank the people and buildings, making him feel like another of the trees watching over them, or a giant who could crush them at any moment.

Soon, his eyes drifted, towards the expanse of the lake, the water blue-black as dusk slowly encroached. Loch Ness was empty, save for the remaining sunlight it reflected back currently, and the moonlight that would illuminate it soon. Beathan suddenly felt tiny, alone, like he had been swallowed up in the depths of the lake, and couldn't find his way back to the surface. He scrambled to his feet, nearly losing his balance again, and descended as swiftly as he could, thankful that he couldn't look back and see the body of water behind him.

Beathan knocked on the front door of the thatched stone hut that belonged to his brother Cailean. It was just after supper time, though Beathan had been too nervous to eat after his meeting with Alasdair to even sit down for a brief meal. Nerves and hunger rumbled equal protests in his stomach, but he ignored them as he waited for an answer. Not too long after his knock, the door opened, and he was greeted by Mhairi, Cailean's wife. She was plain of face and short of stature, but as soon as she smiled, it became immediately clear what Cailean had seen in her. The gesture came to her as naturally as breathing, and the warmth in her eyes as she grinned seemed tailor-made to set people at ease. Which it did for Beathan. He found himself smiling back, almost despite himself.

?Beathan. Sae good ta see ye.?

?Th' same tae ye, Mhairi. Th' bairn be well?? His gaze drifted from her face to the slight swell of her belly, where her hand rested delicately. The aura of motherhood suited her well, as it lit up her features even more and lend her a quiet strength that could be seen in her straighter posture.

?Aye, well, and he be just about ready ta kick.?

?He?? At the skepticism, Mhairi glared at him disapprovingly.

?Of course. Doubt ye that??

?Of course nae. Where be Cailean?? As if on cue, Cailean approached his wife from behind, leaning down to kiss the curve of her neck and lay his hand atop her own. Beathan turned his head slightly to the side to hide his expression, before summoning a smile to greet his brother.

?Latha math, mo br?thair.? If Alasdair and Alleyne were perfect twins, than Cailean and Hudson were the next closest thing to twins that the Fraiser family had. They both had the same dark hair, brown-black eyes, similar builds, and the same slightly thoughtful expression that seemed to be part and parcel of being a Fraiser. Unlike Hudson, though, Cailean was happier and less haunted than his older brother, had an extra inch or so of height on him, and had curly hair where Hudson's was straight. Cailean reached out with his free hand to slap Beathan on the shoulder, resting it there for a moment before withdrawing.

?Latha math, Beathan. Ye just missed supper, but I s'pose we can bring out th' plates for dessert.?

?Much thanks, Cailean, but I be afraid I willnae be stayin' long.? Beathan turned to Mhairi. ?May I speak with him alone for a spell??

?Aye, sure. I'll clean up in th' kitchen.? With one last meaningful glance Cailean's way, Mhairi scurried away from the front of the house back towards the kitchen. Once she had left, Cailean beckoned Beathan to follow him into the study.

From the layers of dust that coated everything in the room, from the desk to the bookshelf to the books themselves, it was evident the room did not see much usage. There was but one chair in the study, so both brothers stood, Cailean by the side of his desk near the window, Beathan in front of the bookshelf. His fingers grazed over the leather spines of the few books that were there. They were mostly fairy tales, children's stories, tomes that had probably been purchased or bartered for in preparation for the child's birth. Beathan quickly turned back to face his brother. He didn't mince words or waste time with pleasantries.

?I wanted tae try one more time, tae change ye mind. Will ye not come with me tae find Hudson??

?Would that I could, Beathan,? Cailean replied, shaking his head with a sad look upon his face. ?But ye ken that my place is here, with Mhairi and th' bairn.?

?I ken. I know that if ye could, ye would join me.? Beathan sighed, running his fingers through his chestnut-colored hair. ?Cailean...I gang awa tae fetch him on th' morrow.?

Cailean's eyebrow raised fractionally. ?Sae soon??

?When did Hudson first gang awa??

Cailean looped and twisted a curl of hair around his finger. ?Nearly a year.?

?Here we be, a year nearly past, for a trip that should take a fortnight, a month at th' latest. Ye dinnae ken that sommat be wrong, that it be sae long since last we saw him? Each day we wait be another day that may be the diff'rence betwixt life 'er death. Or another day where, God forbid, his body be desecrated further. If I be th' only one willin' tae see tae this, then I shall bear th' burden m'self.? Beathan sucked in a deep breath after his speech, looking to Cailean to see if it had an effect on him. The older brother paused, before emitting a long sigh.

?If I could, I would. Hudson be in good hands with ye. Bring him back tae me ? tae th' clan. And be careful.? There was an ominous undercurrent to Cailean's last words that led both the men to shiver.

?Will dae. Oidhche math.?

?Beannachadh, Beathan.?

When Beathan left the house, a chill passed through his body. He pulled his plaid over his shoulders and head, but the cold feeling sunk deeper than flesh, into his spirit.

Beathan set out early the next morning, when the farmers were just getting up in preparation for their day's work. The sun struggled against both the last remnants of the evening and a blanket of clouds to add a blue tint to the black sky and banish the remaining stars. Still, the moon hung high over the village, and would hold sway for the next hour or two. By then, Beathan would be well on his way down the same path Hudson had journeyed a year ago.

The horse stables held an array of Thoroughbreds, Clydesdales, and Cleveland Bays, well fed and kept by an assortment of stableboys and grooms, none of whom were up this early. Some of the horses were asleep, but those that weren't turned their heads and whickered softly at the unexpected intrusion. He examine each animal briefly as he walked past, but he didn't have much time to do more than make sure there was enough straw, hay, oats, and water in each stall, and to make sure there were no visible signs of harm or illness. They all appeared fine, so he wasted little time in heading back to where his horse was kept. Cin?ed, a well-bred Cleveland Bay that had been given to him by Alasdair and Alleyne in recognition of the good work he had put in as the stablemaster for the Fraiser clan, looked expectantly to Beathan as he stopped nearby. He entered the stall and began talking softly to the stallion in Gaelic. He groomed the horse carefully, starting with the body. First, he flicked and brushed the dirt off from head to flank to tail, before switching to a comb and delicately working it through the mane. After this, he crouched and had Cin?ed lift up each hoof, one by one, squeezing the ankle on each leg to do so. For each hoof, Beathan carefully scraped it clean, then set it back down on the ground before moving on to the next one. Finally, he simply wiped it down with a towel hanging in the stall. Once the cleaning was complete, he prepared to ride.

On went the saddle first, then his saddlebags. Beathan checked to make sure everything was securely fastened and tightened, before moving on to the bridle. Swift gentle hands placed the bit in the horse's mouth and secured the bridle around the stallion's ears and nose. After ensuring everything was properly in place, he led Cin?ed out of the stable, before mounting up, stepping carefully onto the stirrup and then pushing himself up fully into the saddle. Beathan squeezed lightly against the horse with his legs, setting the horse off on a slow trot. Fog had encroached on the morning since he'd woken up, and the sun still had not roused enough strength to burn the gray haze away. Only the birds and the cattle were awake to see him off, and even the sharpest hawk's eye would lose track of him quickly in the murky morning. His final words, before pushing Cin?ed to a gallop, fell on the deaf ears of the forest and the earth. ?I will return...?