Chapter 1

“ S top that!” Isabelle Ross cried sharply.

The dog ignored her, happily rolling on his back in the long grass—and whatever disgusting thing he’d found in it this time.

Izzy put her hands on her hips. “Right, buster, you’ve earned yourself a bath when we get back and no giving me those puppy-dog eyes, either. You’ve brought this on yourself!”

As if recognizing the word ‘bath’, the dog heaved himself up, shook himself down, and then proceeded to give her those very puppy-dog eyes she’d warned him about. The effect was ruined somewhat by the lines of slobber that hung from his mouth.

Izzy sighed. Snaffles was not what you’d call a ‘cute’ dog. An English Mastiff with a golden coat and black face, he was muscular, strong as an ox, and just about big enough for Izzy to ride on. Perhaps this was why he’d been at the adoption center for as long as he had. ‘Misunderstood’ was the way Izzy liked to describe him. He might look big and scary, but he was a softie underneath if people took the time to get to know him.

“Right. Let’s go, buddy,” she said, adjusting the rucksack on her back then walking off. “We’ve a long way to go yet.”

Snaffles soon caught up with her and put his nose to the ground as he followed a scent along the well-worn path that wound through the heather. It was a bright late winter’s day. The sky was a clear vault of blue and although the trees were still leafless and the grass still brown and brittle, the wind carried a faint hint of spring that was more than welcome. Around her, the ridges and gullies, windswept valleys and heather-clad moors of the Dragon’s Back stretched away into the distance in all directions. There was not another soul in sight.

Izzy took a deep breath, letting the icy air blow away the cobwebs and the tension that had built up in her shoulders. Ah, this was exactly what she needed. Out here, the little everyday concerns that usually bugged her seemed far away and unimportant. So what if she’d been shouted at by a customer earlier today? So what that her boss was an unsympathetic a-hole more interested in his sports cars than his employees? So what if she had to put up with regular abuse from customers who were annoyed that she couldn’t somehow magically extend their overdrafts or up the credit limit for their already maxed-out credit cards? As far as they were concerned, she was the cause of their financial woes and, boy, they liked to let her know about it.

She sighed. Why had she ever thought going into banking was a good idea?

Because it’s safe, she thought. Because it’s risk free and predictable. Steady job. Steady pay check. Isn’t safe what you always choose?

Maybe so, but out here, the thought of predictability seemed small and insignificant. She looked around. Here was life, wild and free. The wind blowing through her hair, the rustling grass beneath her feet, Snaffles’ heavy panting beside her—it all seemed more real than the drudgery of customer complaints and bureaucratic red tape .

Perhaps that’s why she came out here as often as she could. Perhaps that’s why she always went up to the adoption center on her day off. Perhaps that’s why she brought some of the dogs—usually Snaffles, as he was the longest-serving resident—up here. It reminded her of a freedom that was beyond her reach in her usual life.

Her phone suddenly beeped. Digging it out of her pocket, she read the message that flashed up on the screen. It was from Mike, the manager of the adoption center.

Snaffles’ adoption has fallen through. The daughter is scared of him after he pulled her over during their meet-and-greet.

Izzy sighed, then fired off a quick response to Mike. The right home is out there somewhere . She looked down at Snaffles and the big mastiff stared up at her with his huge, liquid eyes, tail thumping from side to side, blissfully unaware that his third adoption had fallen through. Izzy had been tempted to take him on herself, but she lived alone and worked long hours and so it wouldn’t have been fair. Snaffles needed a family. One that wasn’t put off by his intimidating exterior.

“Don’t worry, boy,” she said, scratching his massive head. “There’s someone out there for you. Just you wait and see.”

Izzy put her phone away and continued walking, her boots crunching on the rocky trail. Snaffles roamed around her in a wide arc, nose skimming the ground, tail sticking up above the tufts of brown grass and whispering heather like the mast of a ship.

After a while, they reached a high ridge overlooking a moor, bathed in the resplendent glow of the afternoon sunlight. Izzy sighed in contentment as she looked out. Here was her favorite spot, away from the world of performance targets and irritated customers. She liked to come here and sit and not think for a while—but today it seemed as though she wasn’t the only one with that in mind.

A figure sat on a rock protruding from the ridge, their back to Izzy, silhouetted against the afternoon sun. Snaffles spotted the figure too and, before Izzy could stop him, went bounding over, tail whizzing from side to side, ignoring all her attempts to call him back.

“Sorry!” she called, hurrying after the disobedient hound. “He won’t hurt you! He’s just excitable!”

The figure turned at her shout and Izzy realized it was an old woman, clad in a shapeless brown coat. A look of surprise flashed across her face as Snaffles pounced on her, licking her face with such enthusiasm that Izzy wondered if she had eaten something delicious recently. Laughter erupted from the woman as she futilely tried to shield herself from the dog’s assault of slobber-filled affection.

“Snaffles, off!” Izzy cried as she reached them. She grabbed his collar and tugged. The mastiff dutifully complied, but not before sneaking in one last lick.

“I’m sorry about him,” Izzy managed to say, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment. Some dog walker she was! First, he rolls in something unspeakable and then he almost drowns a stranger in slobber!

The woman laughed again, a sound as warm and inviting as a crackling fire on a cold evening. “It’s alright, my dear. I like dogs.”

“Oh, good,” Izzy replied, feeling mightily relieved. “Some people find him a bit scary. ”

“Then those people see only what’s on the outside dinna they?” the old woman replied. “Without bothering to look within.”

Izzy blinked, surprised by such an insight. Then she remembered her manners and extended her hand. “Um, hello. I’m Isabelle.”

The woman reached out and shook Izzy’s hand. Her grip was firm and strong, even though her skin was as wrinkled as old parchment. “Irene, my dear. Irene MacAskill.”

“Nice to meet you, Irene.”

“Likewise. Ye havenae seen my cat, have ye?”

Izzy started, taken aback at this sudden change in topic. “Your... cat?”

“Aye. My Baxter. He’s run off again and is refusing to come home. Likes to disappear into the moors whenever he can, the little tinker.”

“I...um...no, I’ve not seen any cat during my hike.” A cat? Seriously?

Irene sighed. “That’s a pity. Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up when he’s ready.”

Silence fell as Irene watched Snaffles chase a non-existent rabbit down the hill. Then she turned to face Izzy fully, studying her intently. Irene’s face was a creased map of wrinkles, her hair a slate gray pulled into a severe bun. She looked ancient, older than Izzy would expect any hiker to be, especially one out here on her own. But Irene’s eyes were young, dark as onyx, and sparkling with intelligence.

“Ye are not from around here, are ye, my dear?” she asked .

“No,” Izzy replied with a shake of her head. “I’m originally from London, but moved up here for work about two years ago.”

Irene nodded knowingly. “Ah, yes. A city girl at heart, trying to find peace in the vastness of the Highlands.”

Izzy raised an eyebrow at the ironic accuracy of Irene’s words. “Something like that.”

In truth, she didn’t really know why she’d accepted the job up here. Moving away from London and all its comforts was the most daring thing she’d ever done—and it had come right out of the blue. In fact, it was the only daring thing she’d ever done and her friends still thought she’d lost her mind. Sometimes Izzy agreed with them.

Irene chuckled softly, her gaze shifting back to the moors. “Sometimes, we do things we canna quite explain to ourselves immediately. It’s a bit like navigating through a foggy landscape: ye canna see too far ahead, but ye know ye have to keep moving if ye wish to find what ye are looking for.”

Izzy stared at the old woman. There was something about Irene MacAskill that was...unsettling. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why, although perhaps it was the way her onyx eyes seemed to hold a lifetime of stories waiting to be told.

“Um...I suppose I never really thought about it like that.”

“Perhaps not,” Irene replied, her eyes seeming to pin Izzy to the spot. “But every choice we make in this life is part of a much longer journey. We may not always understand why we make them at the time, but each one, each decision, brings us closer to where we’re meant to be. ”

Before Izzy could respond to this cryptic statement, Snaffles bounded back up the hill, his tongue lolling out. He skidded to a halt, showering them with small clumps of damp earth. Irene laughed as she brushed off her coat, reaching out to pat Snaffles on his massive head.

“Such a good boy ye are!” she said with a laugh. “So full of love and life, yet misunderstood by many.”

Izzy latched onto this change in topic, grateful that Irene’s attention had been diverted away from herself. “He’s been returned to the shelter three times now,” she admitted. “People get scared of him because he’s so big and powerful.”

“But not ye,” Irene said, looking up at her. “Ye who believes herself so ordinary and unremarkable, yet sees the heart of such a beast, just as ye see the true hearts of people, no matter what they may show on the outside.”

She was doing it again, staring at Izzy in a way that suggested she could see right into Izzy’s soul. Izzy swallowed. “Um...I...I don’t know what you mean.”

Irene patted her hand. “Aye, I can see ye dinna. I can see ye think ye are ordinary. But ye are not, Isabelle. There will soon come a time when ye must decide who ye are and what ye wish to be. Whether ye will choose to be the ordinary person ye think ye are or the extraordinary one that lies within. A choice is coming, my dear, and it will lead ye to a path ye’d never thought to tread. Will ye be the woman who let fear hold her back, or will ye be the woman who saw through the fog and dared to journey to her destiny?”

Izzy backed up a step. Was that supposed to make any sense? Well, it didn’t. Irene was clearly a little...strange. Her words were just meaningless ramblings. And yet, despite herself, they struck a chord inside Izzy that she couldn’t quite explain. She’d always been one to play it safe—avoiding risks and anything that might cause her hurt, but Irene’s words stirred up something inside her, that same longing that had caused her to leave everything behind and move up here in the first place. What would it be like to be carefree and adventurous? To take life as it came and not worry about the future?

A gust of wind suddenly swept across the moors, rustling the heather and carrying with it the scent of snow from the mountains further north. It whistled through the gaps in the stones, pulled some wisps free from Irene’s gray bun, and Izzy was struck by how at home Irene looked in this wild place, as though she was part of this wild landscape and it was part of her.

“I don’t understand—” Izzy began, only to be cut short by Irene’s sudden hearty laughter, which echoed across the barren landscape, startling a few birds into flight.

“I dinna expect ye to, Isabelle! Not yet. But ye will.”

The wind seemed to carry an echo of her laughter long after the sound had faded away. Izzy stared at the old woman, questions dancing on the tip of her tongue. But before she could ask any of them, the old woman climbed to her feet. She moved with an unexpected agility, showing none of the stiffness one would expect from a woman her age. Snaffles bounded around her feet, kicking up a tiny storm of dust and dried grass. With a small smile, Irene reached out to gently pat his large head once more .

“Well, I’d best be getting on,” she said, her gaze on the sun that was beginning its descent in the western sky. “If I’m to find that dratted cat of mine before it gets dark!”

“Do you need a lift?” Izzy said. “My car is not that far away. I can drop you off somewhere if you like.”

But Irene only laughed again. “That’s mighty kind of ye, my dear, but there’s no need. I enjoy the exercise. And besides,” she nodded into the distance. “Yer road lies in a different direction entirely.”

For some reason, Izzy got the impression she wasn’t talking about the hike back to the car.

“But if ye come across Baxter on yer travels,” Irene continued, “ye be sure to send him home. Tell him if he isnae home by bedtime, he’ll be getting no supper tonight.”

“Sure,” Izzy said, wondering whether this Baxter was anything more than a figment of Irene’s imagination. She’d seen no sign of a cat during her hike and what self-respecting cat would come all the way up here anyway? “But I think I ought to—”

“Off ye go now,” Irene said, waving her off. “And remember what I told ye, Isabelle. The choice is yers to make.”

Without another word, the old woman turned and strode off into the moors, moving with a steady, sure gait. In only moments, she was lost amongst the heather.

Izzy stood in silence for a long moment, feeling the wind whip around her and watching the old woman’s retreating figure. What a strange encounter.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Calling Snaffles to heel, she set off, hurrying down the rugged path in the direction of her car parked by the trailhead .

As she walked, Irene MacAskill’s words kept running through her head. They didn’t mean anything, surely? Irene was obviously some eccentric old dear who liked to say strange things. That was all it was. Wasn’t it? She’d spoken of choices and paths, but in such ambiguous terms that she could have meant anything, like some two-bit fortune teller who seems to say something and nothing all at once.

Ahead, the trail began passing through a boulder field, gigantic limestone monoliths that must have been carried here by the retreating ice-age many eons ago. She’d crossed this on her way out and was perhaps only a mile from the car now.

Snaffles suddenly halted. His ears pricked up and he raised his muzzle to sniff the air. A low growl rumbled in his throat, quickly escalating into an eager bark. Izzy tried to see what had caught his attention and her eyes were drawn towards a spot where some tumbled boulders had fallen against each other, forming a rudimentary arch.

Something was sitting beneath that arch. Something furry, with pointed ears and a tail curled around its feet.

Wait. Was that a cat ?

Izzy’s eyes widened. Yes, it was indeed a cat. A large, striped tabby to be precise. It sat beneath the arch as though it didn’t have a care in the world. Or as though it was waiting for something.

Snaffles’ barks became more high-pitched and excited, echoing through the hushed landscape. The cat didn’t even flinch. It yawned nonchalantly, showing an impressive display of white teeth. Just to be on the safe side, Izzy took out the leash and clipped it onto Snaffles’ collar .

“Baxter?” she called softly, taking a few steps towards the arch.

The cat’s ear twitched and he turned his head to gaze at her lazily. Izzy moved closer, her boots crunching softly against small pebbles.

“Irene is looking for you,” she told the cat. “And she says to tell you that if you aren’t home by bedtime you’ll get no supper.” She felt faintly ridiculous talking to a cat as though he could understand her. “Go on home now. Shoo!”

Baxter ignored her, sauntered over to one of the boulders that formed the archway, and began sharpening his claws on it.

“Baxter! Come on, kitty—”

She fell silent as something beneath the arch caught her eye. In the space between the fallen stones, the afternoon light seemed to waver and shimmer as though a curtain of mirage was hanging in the air. It cast an ethereal glow on Baxter’s tabby stripes.

Izzy blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked again. Yes, there it was. A nebulous shimmering, like heat haze on a blisteringly hot summer day. What on earth?

Baxter gave a stretched-out yawn, then gracefully shook himself from head to tail. His tail swished lazily from side to side as he sauntered forward, eyeing Snaffles with a haughty look of disdain.

Snaffles’ barks climbed in pitch, and finally unable to contain himself any longer, he lunged for the cat, ripping the leash out of Izzy’s hands and sending her stumbling face first into the mud. She looked up just in time to see Baxter dashing under the arch, with Snaffles in hot pursuit .

“Snaffles!” she yelled. “Get back here! Bad dog!”

She scrambled to her feet, feeling a lot more sympathy for the family whose daughter Snaffles had pulled over, and sprinted after the unruly hound.

“Snaffles! Heel!”

She ran up to the arch and a strange sensation washed over her. The air was thicker here, the smell of damp moss and cold stone more pronounced. That strange heat haze was still shimmering in the space between the stones.

Sprinting headlong after the disobedient hound, Izzy dashed through.