There, at the brink of the Firth of Forth, little houses dotted the hilly land stretching up from the water’s edge. The slapping of tidal waters echoed from the moorings. His eyes scanned the landscape again and again, drinking it all in-committing it to memory.
On a low rise sat a rustic pub; he stepped along the cobblestones and stairways to the entrance.
Dimly lit, yet glowing with hospitable warmth, the room emitted an ambiance of comradeship and community–immediately Don felt drawn to the group of people within.
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