Airticles tagged “Fiction”
Three nichts efter, auld Major dee’d peacefu in his sleep. His bouk wis buirit at the fit o the orchart.
This wis early in the Mairch. Ower the neist three month the’ war a quate steer aboot the place. Major’s discoorse haed gien the mair lang-heidit craiturs on the ferm a hale new ootleuk on life. They didna ken whan the Rebellion spaed by Major wad tak place — they haed nae reason tae jalouse it wad be ithin their ain lifetime — but they haed nae douts it wis their duty tae prepare for it. The pigs teuk on the darg o learin and guidin the ithers, as they war thocht on as bein the maist heidy o the bease. Maist weel-forrit amang the pigs wis twa young boars caa’d Snawba and Napoleon, that Mr Cameron wis breedin up for sale.
Mr Cameron, o the Kirklands Ferm, haed sneckit the hen-hooses for the nicht, but wis ower fou wi drink tae mind and steek the pop-holes. Wi the ring o licht frae his lantren jowin frae side tae side, he hytert athort the yaird, kickit aff his buits at the back door, haed ae last swallie frae the beer bowie ben the scullery, and stoitert up til his bed, whaur Mrs Cameron wis aaready snorin awa.
Uisually, whan I write here on Mak Forrit it’s airticles that I’m writin, but this time, I hae a wee story for yese: The day is the twinty-fowert o Mairch, 1350. I masel, Brither Ringan, Benedictine monk at Dunfermline Abbey, am herein settin furth a bogie tale ootwi ma relígious duties. Whan we rose for nocturnes (wir nicht prayer), I wis haein a awfie frichtsome bogie tale o a dream. …