Leaves crunch beneath your feet in the chilled autumn air, gunshots sounding behind you.

You’d manage to run off from where your captors had placed you, to keep you protected from their battle with the English.

As you run, branches whip at your face, sharp stones cursing your heels.

Until the sound of a sword drawing halted your pursuit. There, stood the redheaded Scotsman who’d been riding with you during your journey.

“Dougal and the others will be waitin’ by the road. Let’s go.”