November story - #7
The pale blue of the Hebridean sky deepened as the sun angled towards the southwestern horizon. Its last rays touched the old chapel and the ruinous house on the cliff edge, before disappearing behind the uncaring hills. A chill wafted across from the nearby sea as darkness fell. Nothing moved. Not even the seabirds, which had hurried to their cliffside roosts. A small boat made its way south, past the high cliffs of Filiscleitir, after leaving the nearby shoreline at Cuidhsiadar. Those on board did not care about what they had left behind, and even less about what the consequences of their actions would be. A late walker crossed the bridge from Cuidhsiadar and gained the heights near the chapel. Perhaps a good place to spend the night. Soon, a tent appeared near the end of the track, and flames joyfully leapt up into the gathering night sky. Their shadows only just touched the walls of the chapel. They only served to obscure what had been left there.