Left alone, Ian viewed from a hilltop the roofs of this place, with a tower or two starting up like warning fingers.

But his road led on through a mountain pass.
The earth itself seemed to be climbing.

The mountain shapes, little and big, gathered in herds.

Cliffs, ravines, the hoarse song of water, the faces of few human folk, and on these written "Mountains, mountains! Live as we can! Catch who catch can!" After a time the road was deprived of even these faces.

The Scot thought of home mountains.
He thought of the Highlands.