"When I'm with her, even my demons dress up for dinner and behave."
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We'd just finished our lunch and Nana, with her usual persistence, insisted we "stretch our legs a wee bit" before we grew roots in her chairs.
It wasn't like we had much choice.
Cameron, of course, took charge. "Right, let's head out, troops!" He swung open the cottage door with dramatic flair, letting a gust of cold air slap us in the face.
"Cam, you're gonna get us all frozen solid!" Isla groaned, tucking her scarf tighter around her neck. Freya nodded in agreement, rubbing her hands together for warmth.
"Come on, don't be soft," he teased, striding out into the yard like he owned the place. "Gran's sheep are waiting, and they miss me."
"They'll probably bolt the moment they see you," George quipped, already halfway down the path toward the pasture.
Nana bustled out behind us, bundled in a thick woolen shawl.
"Mind the sheep now, bairns," she said, waving her hand at the animals. "They're ma wee bairns these days. Better company than most folk."
"This," Cameron declared, spinning dramatically, "is the beating heart of Scotland. Gran's farm is a national treasure."
"You've got that right," George agreed, rubbing his hands together for warmth as his breath clouded in front of him. "Though, mate, I could do without the wind slapping me in the face."
Freya and Isla were already cooing over a pair of woolly sheep by the fence. Isla had one hand outstretched, letting one of them sniff her fingers, while Freya was snapping pictures with her phone like a tourist on her first day out.
Rose, meanwhile, looked like she'd been dropped into another world. Her nose was already pink from the cold, and her wide eyes darted toward the distant sheep grazing lazily near the fences.
I nudged her gently with my elbow. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Afraid of a few chickens?"
Her head snapped up, and she glared at me, "I just... I don't want them to get too close."
"Ah, so you are scared," I teased, grinning as I slipped an arm around her shoulders.
"Don't start," she muttered, her voice barely audible over the wind.
"Too late," Cameron declared, striding toward the chicken coop with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Renna," he called, his voice laced with mock sweetness. "What's the matter, princess? Never seen a chicken before?"
"I've seen plenty of chickens!" she shot back, crossing her arms. "Just...not ones that look so...feathery."
"Feathery?" he doubled over laughing, clutching his sides. "What did ye expect? Bald ones?"
