Winner of the 2025 Creatives Flash Fiction Contest, kindly supported by Fort William Mountain Festival and the Highland Bookshop.
A lone climber weaves through the mountain’s teeth. She crests another canine and pauses, hindered by the curious sensation that she is being watched. A westerly wind rakes through her hair as she gazes back across the Cuillins.
“Hmm,” she mutters to herself. “No one there.”
High above, an eagle banks to the left and sighs. The human mocks him. He is king of the sky. An iolar sùil na grèine* with his keen, golden eyes.
He sees palms rubbed raw by rock. He sees grief gathering dust behind her eyelids. He sees the way her shoulders curve inwards when her mind wanders too far.
She feels something slip, though she can no longer tell the difference between her mind and her feet. The sun sinks into the Atlantic as the mountain yawns. There is always an end.
Still, the eagle flies on.
*bird with the sunlit eye.