Jamie Stuart

A solitary black crow circles high above the battlefield, eagerly awaiting the first rays of the morning sun which would soon disperse the dawn mist, which was spread like a grey blanket across the shallow valley below. A second crow joins it, wheeling gracefully on the warming thermals as the sun at last peeks above the distant eastern ridge.
Caught in a piercing shaft of brilliant sunlight, the first, suddenly unable to contain the building anticipation, sends a harsh rasping screech through the air as if to hurry the dispersal of the covering mist.
Looking still somewhat gorged from the previous days feeding, it begins its descent through the obligingly clearing mist to the vast feast below, the suns rays reflecting brightly off its over-nourished, blue-black wing feathers, sleek with oil. 
 Pickings had been rich lately.
                                                *      *      *

 Jamie Stuart knew he was dead, he had to be. The redcoats' bayonet had struck true. He had felt the cold steel slice into him. He had seen his kinsfolk fall one by one, overwhelmed by the merciless discipline of the relentless English with their stabbing bayonets. The battle had been hard won by the English redcoats. More than two hundred of them lay dead in the valley, forced onto the slashing claymores of the hopelessly trapped highlanders. On and on they came, pushed into a maelstrom of slashing, hacking steel by the ever increasing press of rear ranks as the advancing regiment forced the ragged Scots onto the prepared ground at the head of the valley. Pressed against impenetrable rows of razor tipped branches with no way to retreat, the bravest of the newly allied clans had fought their last battle to the last man, preferring a warriors death to the slow lingering torture of confinement in the English hellholes of the lowlands.
The excruciating pain of the bayonets entry into Jamie's side had mercifully receded, he felt that he was floating on air, rising above the dead and the dying.

To what?'. He wondered.

Did it really matter?. After all, it was so peaceful here, so quiet and peaceful. The screams had halted, the war-cries silenced. He would stay here, just as he was, forever. All he had to do was keep his eyes closed and drift away. He would be safe, welcomed into the company of departed kinsfolk
The screeching of the crows faded gently.
He lay back and gave himself completely to the beckoning mists of eternity.

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