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The sun was low and the shadows were long, casting themselves over the heather covered hills and mountainís in this northern part of the world. There was little shelter in this land, most of the natural trees having been torn from the earth a long time ago, in a savage rape of the land and those that remained were bent as if in sorrow for their kind who no longer stood. Sharp granite was showing through the heather, here and there, like bone from some prehistoric monster. Lichen grew upon granite, trying in vain to cover this bare, naked rock that the elements had failed to tame and there was strange stains on the granite, almost like a trail pointing its way, north west, across the dark klein blue waters of Loch na Seig towards a strange light, coming from the top of Ben Hope. Moving to the top of this proud ben, the razor sharp Craig allowed no place to stand with safety in mind, your eye is drawn down, following the strange stains to the black waters of Dudh-loch na Beinne and there the stains ended.