Some Time Ago...

 Snow pelted the cottage in its wispy, nocturnal vigil. As long as Eilidh had firewood and an able chimney, though, she didn't much mind; she rather loved the weather, much preferring it to the sludgy mess of melted snow which would be lining the roads of Glasgow in the morning. No, out here on the southern foothills of Grampian, she would wake up, have herself a stretch and a fresh brew of East Dutch India Company coffee, and nothing but the freshest grounds of snow to gaze out onto as she sipped her morning beverage. It had become a routine near and dear to her heart, wholly devoid of distraction, of aberration - it was one absolutely hers. Solitude.

In fact, it didn't even restrict itself to the morning hours. A life of caffeine use, first tea, before an ardent spell of Scottish nationalism in her young adult years compelled her to import only coffee - and from the Dutch trade, at that - had meant little affected her even in the late hours of the day, which suited Eilidh perfectly fine on nights such as this, where the frigid, winter chill lent itself well to a cozy, piping-hot mug of coffee no matter the hour.

Darkness had fallen, leaving Eilidh with little to do. As a teacher for students who would travel here for tutoring from Dumbarton, with even more upscale families rendering her services and coming all the way from Glasgow - a near-two hour ride by carriage, one way - she had put her years in education to good use, and her reputation to even better use, affording herself the chance to live so far out beyond the reach of civilization.

"I bet you're happy you're not out there," she quipped lightly, twisting lips as she glanced down at her plant, Elunore, a gingerly growing pothos now that the winter months had come, though she still managed well enough under Eilidh's care, and surely, the tender heat of the fireplace that kept her somewhat under the impression of something tropical, at least.

Eilidh pulled her attention away from the window for a moment, tending to her table, straightening up after the day's activities. She had cared for her sourdough, partaken in a few crafting projects, caught up on a few letters of correspondence - the manservants who would accompany her students would often be kindly enough to relay her letters to the post for her - and sewn back together a few garments of hers that had been torn during her previous few excursions along the mountainside, in addition to a pair of trousers she had torn on her previous visit to Dumbarton, the most social she often got when she made her somewhat-monthly visits to town. She had been on a promenade with her friend, Ariella, when she had taken a misstep off of a particularly mis-constructed portion of sidewalk, leading to a fall that rendered her trouser being ripped and her requiring one of Ariella's skirts to be worn until she returned home, which was bearable, but certainly not ideal.

The skirt in question remained near the door, sitting folded in her basket that would be taken with her on her next trip, which would be in the coming week or so. It was often to purchase groceries and other supplies, though there were times where Eilidh simply caught the social bug and visited just to visit - not Ariella - she was quite the chatterbox and domineering individual - but maybe Bella, whom Eilidh could enjoy a cup of Dutch or French tea without the begging of forced conversation. The sort of human contact that she could find replicated in Elunore, just less green and more normal-feeling.

One of those excursions out onto the foothills, too, had rendered her stores of bandages and other first aid equipment low, Eilidh having had to nurse a cut along her leg after tripping near the top of the hill. Upon returning home and bandaging her wound, she had quickly and dutifully rushed to her inkwell and quill, spotting out a line onto her list of things to purchase when next in town, making note of the necessity in survivalist supplies that was often needed out here where doctors weren't readily available. They were hardly readily available in Dumbarton, either - perhaps in Glasgow, but on that front, she figured she had similar odds regardless of if she were out in the foothills or in the nearest settlement.

Her mind ran over any further supplies she might need as she scanned over her home, nodding simply to herself as she glanced back out the window, eyes wincing out into the snowy landscape.

"It's really coming down, huh?" she muttered to herself, quietly, always enjoying Elunore's company on occasions such as this.

Living just along the side of the foothills neighboring Loch Lomond, Eilidh was no stranger to the landscapes beyond her window being majestic if not dichotomous; to her left was endless foothills, giving way as she scanned to the right to a valley of waters, the Loch's immense breadth offering a well-welcomed and awe-inspiring view. It was one which she had known well, having gazed upon it many a morning - and evening - while standing there, nursing a coffee, allowing her the scrutinizing ability to catch the slightest abnormality.

Her eyes narrowed, her head leaning forward as something appeared in the distance, darkening the dusky cascade of snowy footfalls. Eilidh's feet carefully slid closer to the window, nearly pressing her nose against the chilled surface of its glass, watching the dark figure that seemed to only just pop out from beyond the horizon. She couldn't make it out beyond its vague silhouette, barely even able to tell whether ot not it was moving. Perhaps it was merely a trick of the light? some shadow cast by some stone as the moon crested the horizon or some other oddity. Eilidh's lips pursed, curious, not just to its identity, but also with that scrupulous fear that, should she lose her gaze, it might vanish and, then, who knows where it might reemerge...

The shape shook, stepping forward. Eilidh's eyes widened.

"Gods," she whispered, "Is that a person?!"

Suddenly, the shape fell, collapsing into the snow.

Eilidh's hair at her neck prickled. She leapt backward, cursing, "Fuck!" Whipping around, she rushed toward the front door, throwing on her thickest coat and hurrying for her boots, launching a stare toward Elunore, "I'll be right-! Oh, gods, I'm going crazy."

She reached for the door, stopping and turning around. She rushed to a nearby closet, grabbing a tarpaulin from within and then returning to the door where she paused, glancing at the musket that sat nearby, leaning against the wall. Eilidh's brow furrowed with deepened consideration, a groan breaking past her lips as she grabbed the firearm, despite it being without shot or even gunpowder, stepping outside where the blistering cold instantly assaulted her face. Eilidh's teeth shone fierce as she threw the hood of her coat over her head, burying her face against her chest as well as she could, hurrying along the house where she had seen the figure collapse.

"Son of a-" she muttered to herself in complaint, as though speaking would keep her warm, or at the very least distract herself from the chill, "Fucking nutjob out here... Come on!"