The picture shows the Devil’s Pulpit which is found in Scotland. I was inspired by the history of the place and decided to create a short piece of writing…
The eye of the sun had barely set before an eerie twilight spread across the vast lands. Darkness covered each hill, ran alongside the beds of the river and even seeped into the crevices of the gorges, which lay to the west. To the east lay the Great Forest, which stood magnificent in day break; but now in the eve, there was a calm movement where the tops of the trees softly rose and fell, like the chest of a sleeping babe.
As the dark fixed around the forest, creatures of the night seemed to come alive in song. Owls could be heard hooting in the tall oak trees, crickets chirruped merrily by the banks of the river, and even the vague flapping of tiny bat wings could be heard in the skies above. As they flew simultaneously towards the hills above the gorges, the sound could be reminiscent of a faint heartbeat.
A stranger in a hooded, brown cloak walked west along the river bed. He walked briskly and without the aid of the stick, which was surprising considering he seemed to be past his prime. As he continued up stream, he did not seem to care that his cloak trailed in the water and that mud and foliage collected on his bare feet, rather, a determined, unperturbed scowl was fixed upon his pale face. His head was hairless but a long brown beard fell from his chin and rested on his chest; it was extremely bushy and looked as though it could house several or so birds.
A few times he paused and glanced up at the starry sky, as though reading, or perhaps checking, before continuing on. Up ahead, past the rolling hills and through the gorge there was an entrance which led steeply down through a dark, narrow ravine; there a distant light flickered and shadows of people could be seen encircling a fire.
“Damn,” he swore loudly, as he raced ahead. He knew that speeding up his pace would hardly help; he was already too late.