Seumas, with a mighty grunt, hurled the chain across the broken gap, securing it to the far post. Together they pulled the broken stones into place, using their bodies as a human brace. Eòin’s glaive became a lever, his weight a counterbalance. The bridge, though battered, held.
“By the blood of my forefathers, By the stone of my home, I stand upon this bridge, And I will not be drowned!” highlander torrent
The River‑Wyrm, confronted with fire and courage, let out a keening sound, a lament that echoed across the glen. Its shape dissolved, the water returning to its natural, chaotic flow but now subdued. The torrent’s height began to recede, the floodwaters pulling back as the storm moved on, leaving behind a river that sang a softer, gentler song. Seumas, with a mighty grunt, hurled the chain
“You have saved us all,” he said, his voice hoarse from the wind. “The old tales speak true—courage can bind even the fiercest water.” The bridge, though battered, held
The highland folk believed the river was a living thing, a guardian that could become a tyrant. Eòin’s grandfather, the last of the MacLeòid seers, had taught him to listen to the water’s murmur. “If it sings of sorrow, you must answer with a song of your own,” he had said, his voice cracking like old bark. “But if it roars with rage, you must give it something it cannot swallow—courage.”
The wind howled, and a sudden gust sent a spray of cold water slapping his face. The river’s roar rose to a deafening crescendo as a massive slab of stone—once part of the riverbank—tumbled down, crashing into the water with a splash that sent a wave lashing the bridge. The ancient stones shivered, and a crack appeared along the central arch.