While the cat's are away ...

Dracmuller MacTavish has finally set out for Wigtown. Taking advantage of the fact that the robbers and bandits who moved into County Galloway upon its founding are all busy arguing (or listening) in Highlands Hall, trying to institute laws which 'give the robbers a go', he ducks quickly onto the main path and sneaks around the various cuthroat bandits who have recently descended on the immediate environs of the Hall to listen to their spokesmen.

While their foul english accents pollute the nearby highland air, reflects Drac, the roads at least are free!

How Ironic!

Drac nods his head in passing as a bonny lassie passes by, her butcher's hooks and knives hung as though for easy access on broad leathern belts. Drac notes the regal aloofness in her stride as she passes a puddle of english rabbles, and the grin she flashes as she approaches he.

"This be anor MacTavish," he thinks to himself, comforted knowing that even now Scotland is gathering its sons and daughters to heart...

the last sounds of home which Drac hears on his departure is Piper Tom's latest "Aye for a gentler sea!"