Sure enought, as soon as the little party had left, with the chief on his dun coloured horse and his helpers running alongside, the snow began to fall.It was the foulest weather Conn had ever known.
The hills disappeared in a fleece of whirling white and wind piled up great drifts to make new hills. It was a struggle for Conn to hack his way to the byre to feed the cows. Brutal, freezing snow sliced his cheeks and knifed his bare legs. Even the big peat fire in the centre of the room seemed to give out no heat.
There were no gatherings in the evening. People did not want to risk the short walk up a hillside in case the hillside changed shape while they were out.
Beside, no one wanted to sing until Maclain and his helpers returned from Inveraray.