Chapter 2

Rory's bark snapped Donnie out of his daze and he realised they had reached the ravine. There was some shelter from the rock walls here and for the first time in nearly two hours, he was able to see more than a few feet in front of himself. The sheep was lying as he had left it and he shuffled forward before kneeling by its side. The animal didn't have the strength left to raise its head this time, but Donnie could see its eyes were open and there was still life in them.

Unrolling the blanket, he laid it beside the sheep and then, grabbing its legs, flipped the beast over onto it. He was then able to fold the sides over to completely cover the cheviot and create a 'travios' that he would be able to pull. Almost at the point of exhaustion, Donnie knew he would need to rest for a few minutes before setting out to return back down the hill. The light was fading fast now, made worse by the heavy snow closing in and a glance at his watch told him it was now almost 16:00.

As he rested, Donnie looked at the blanket and concluded that he faced a difficult task to get the sheep and himself to safety. An idea popped into his head and he called Rory over beside him. Slipping the dog's collar from around its neck, he used his pocket knife to make an incision in both flaps of the blanket. Slipping one end of the dog collar through the slits, he fed it through the buckle and tightened it to give himself something to pull on. This achieved two things: it helped keep the blanket together around the sheep; and it saved him stooping as low as he otherwise might have to.

"No point in putting it off any longer," he thought to himself.

"Come on boy, it's time to go home."

When Donnie hadn't returned by mid-afternoon, Douglas McGregor began to worry. It shouldn't have taken the boy that long to check on the flock in the lower field and it was now only an hour or so away from darkness. Worried that something had happened, he climbed back into his tractor and set off in the direction of Bochastle Hill.

The bigger vehicle dealt with the conditions easily and he drove through the village and over the bridge without any difficulty. As he reached the first gate, the snow began to fall heavily and he hurried to drive through and then secure it behind himself. Only a few minutes later he reached the pasture. With visibility very poor, he had to drive two-thirds of the way across the field before the shelter of the pine trees enabled him to see that the sheep were where they should be. A quick count told him that there was one missing and Douglas guessed that this explained why Donnie hadn't yet returned.

"I haven't passed him on the road, so the only place he can be is higher up the hill," he thought to himself grimly.

Douglas knew that the upper reaches of Bochastle Hill, in a blizzard and with darkness falling was no place to be and he was really worried now. His worry didn't stop him from observing proper practice though, and as he passed through the next gate, he secured it behind himself before heading up the hill. Even with his goggles on, he could barely see a few feet ahead now and almost drove into the back of the abandoned ATV some thirty minutes later.

Getting down to check on the now snow-covered bike, Douglas hit the starter button and found that the engine was dead. Douglas was a practical man and looking around himself, he knew that it would be folly to go any further in the current conditions. He had to hope that Donnie had found shelter somewhere and that he was safe.

"He's a smart boy, I'm sure I'm worrying over nothing," he thought. "It's going to be touch and go whether I can find my own way back down off of this godforsaken hill!"

Now in darkness and with the blizzard of heavy snow still battering him, Donnie was finding the going very tough indeed. He had been out in the freezing conditions for over seven hours now and unbeknown to him the symptoms of hypothermia had already set in. As his blood centred itself on his vital organs and core temperature it deprived his hands, feet and brain. His thinking was growing duller, his steps slower and he had already fallen several times. Unable to see even Rory as a guide in the dark, and suffering disorientation anyway, he was now wandering on the hillside aimlessly.

Still doggedly pulling the injured sheep, he was now actually trudging slowly uphill rather than in the direction of home. Rory had tried several times to attract his attention, barking and tugging on his sleeve, but Donnie was oblivious.

Stumbling once more, Donnie was at last unable to get to his feet and he could only manage to shuffle forward on his hands and knees for a few more yards. Fatigue bowed his head so that he couldn't to see the standing stones of Clachan an Diridh were directly in front of him. The cold, exhaustion and effects of hypothermia had finally beaten him and he lay motionless, as the snow continued to cover him.

Rory became frantic. He pawed at his young master and whined in an effort to rouse him. When his attempts failed, the Collie took firm hold of Donnie's arm and tried to drag him forward.

Inside the stone circle there was some limited shelter behind the huge pillars of stone that faced directly into the wind. Inch by inch, Rory somehow managed to pull Donnie into one such spot. It took the dog almost an hour to achieve what was a miraculous feat, but he wasn't finished at that. Returning to the sheep, Rory grabbed the end of his own collar between his teeth and began to pull the cheviot into the circle too. Climbing over Donnie's prone figure, the Collie continued to pull the sheep and the blanket until they were snugly up against Donnie's side. Having managed that, the dog then lay on the other side of his master, trying to keep him warm.

No sooner had the brave Border Collie positioned himself and the sheep to try to heat Donnie's frozen body, he raised his head and began to growl, the hackles on his neck bristling.

A golden haze of light descended on the stone circle and all of the snow around Donnie was suddenly gone. In the midst of the dazzling halo was the shape of an old woman. This was Beira, mother of all of the ancient Scottish gods and goddesses. Already the heat radiating from the deity's aura was returning some strength to young Donnie and his eyelids flickered twice before opening. He stared in confusion for several minutes before trying to speak.

"Hush my brave one. Rest a little longer and let your body repair itself," she said to him.

Donnie gazed upon her with amazement, convinced that he was either asleep or dead. The goddess appeared to be very old, almost like a crone, but there was something markedly different about her than any old woman Donnie had ever seen. Apart from the golden light that surrounded her, the woman appeared to have two faces – one on the front of her head and another on the rear. He saw that she was smiling at him now, almost as if she was able to read his thoughts and was amused at his confusion.

"Yes, I must look strange to you, my young earth warrior. I am Cailleach – goddess of winter."

The goddess' head turned to show the second face was composed as if in sleep. Donnie heard Cailleach explain.

"This is Brighde goddess of summer. Together we are Beira, the mother of all gods and goddesses."

The goddess' head turned again so that Donnie was once again looking at the face that was awake. Beside him he heard Rory whine for the first time, but was still too weak to be able to turn to see his canine friend. The goddess spoke again.