(Michael MacLeod rouses himself from the sleep that had taken him. The words of the actor had stirred some deep memory behind his eyes…)

Shakespeare? There is a few god men in among the straw fellows of Britain, at least. I recall the words:

"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creep on in their petty pace, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools their way to dusty death. Out! Out brief candle! Life is but a walking shadow. A poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. Tis a tale told by an idiot! Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

I saw it played in Skye, before the fire took the old play-house. They'll never do the Scot's Play again, I'll warrant!

"The ale's a penny a pot, boys The ale's a penny a pot! If you've only got a penny, then beer is all you've got! We've no more good potatoes, there isn't any beef, Welcome to the army lads, we'll got no relief!"

Frenchie, I'll not leave a man to fight alone. If they come for us, either of us, We'll both use the bolt-hole and set them up by the river. My sainted father would often sing of the battles he had seen. I've a mind if I have to die, I could do so in worse company!

Lazarus! I have a catch-bag on my saddle that holds a few bottles of port. I've a mind to pour it all now and devil take the snow!

Mikal