Short Story
Cold Comfort: Part I
We never know what we will find in the empty unknown
The highlands shudder an untimely autumn chill. Within the groan and rumble of distant complaining lochs, she hears a human lament across the brae. She thought herself alone in this strange and ancient landscape, but this unexpected cry broadcasts the presence of an interloper. There is no chance to consider whether to surge forth to aid a fellow in need or to conceal herself off track before a hunkered figure weaves into view.
A tenor mutter of madness reaches her ears and she thinks to flee. She could shed her pack and outpace him, but that folly would leave her miles from the nearest hut with no provisions or shelter. The only course is to face this unknown entity head-on.
“Hello there!” Her squeaked attempt to hail the oncoming man is met only by his momentary faltering step and a wild swinging look up and around, seemingly everywhere but at her. Her mind flashes to the imagery of a rabid dog painted in the saddest of her childhood books and she wishes for a rifle.
Finally, he is nearly upon her and stops short, struggling to bring her into focus. She is convinced he must be heavily intoxicated and re-grips her trekking poles as improvised sabres. “Oh! Hello! I didn’t see you there,” he intones…
