Preparations continue at MacTavish's Hut for the celebration of their proclomation as one of the 'Founding Clans of Scotland.' A truly great honour, all are agreed.
The scent of good highland cooking fills the air around as kith and kin combine to get things ready. The furniture is built, the piglets have been led off into the woods, the peat is piled to hand and there is a good supply of ale to do the rounds. Although there is not a lot of time left, and much needs doing, the MacTavishes seem quite confident they'll get the job done.
Towards evening, the sound of happy voices is heard coming up the path. Before long there emerges into the clearing a group of MacTavishes, joking and carrying on. In their midst is a young man from Drummore, and he looks like he had a narrow escape to be here in time for the big day.
Tom can't help himself, pulls out his pipes, and launches into "Ear'sare' burin" another incindiary tune he knows.
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