A farm boy from the highlands, fifteen, suddenly studying in the Athens of the North.

I thought it appropriate to go out with fireworks flashing in the night, showing off some of my work rather than with a whimper. As this is

Yet I knew it a great story, I was happy with it and I am rarely happy with my tales, always thinking that I could have done more. I thought

I am often asked, writing all these stories based in Scotland if I ever wear a kilt. The answer is yes, rarely, but yes.

this thing was darker still than the barrow weights, the shades and shadows, darker still than the Monstrous Kobolds, darker than sin.

The snow softly fell, a blanket, quiet and perfect lay upon a quiet land. The footfalls of animals, both predator and prey were unheard.

Let me explain myself. Firstly many great novels have been built upon the bones of short stories, “Tales from 1001 nights”, “Hyperion” by...