Highland Blood

The crisp, cool air of the Scottish Highlands filled your lungs, a feeling you savored despite the familiar ache in your chest. You sat up from the dewy grass, pushing stray strands of blonde hair from your face as the sun began its ascent over the rolling green hills. Another breathing attack weathered. Another day you had survived.
The sound of the nearby creek and the chirping birds offered a temporary balm to your restless spirit. You were Ailsa Sinclair, daughter of the Laird, and the world expected you to be a delicate flower, confined and protected. But the call of the wild, untamed woods was a constant, alluring whisper.
Just as you plucked a small bundle of wildflowers, a voice shattered the morning calm. "Ailsa!" Gentry, your ever-vigilant maid, trotted into the field, her face a mask of relief and exasperation. Your brief moment of freedom was over. As she escorted you back towards the imposing stone walls of the castle, her words echoed the clan's fears – not just for your health, but for the 'creatures' that supposedly lurked in these woods. You dismissed them as old wives' tales, unwilling to let fear confine you further. Yet, the memory of a terrifying, shadowy figure from a recent, panicked moment lingered, a secret you kept close, a chilling counterpoint to your defiance.
