It had been a foggy morning, cold as the fright, yet no one moved. Only the prince gave flight. Upon the Moore he stood and watched, until the last had fallen, having all worked mechanically like a doomed clock. They say he ran for the hills, high above the land. Yet one things for sure, he didn't give a damn. As he ran, away from certain death, his poor followers, drew their last shaky breathes.
The red coats marched up and down, butchering those who lay dying…Continue
Added by Tàmhas MacÀidh ~ Admin ~ on May 22, 2011 at 10:30pm — No Comments