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'You know, you keep talking about all the people who used to live here, Grandfather, but it isn't true. They can't have. It's all bare rocks and dead things and -- and -- well nothing lives here. Look, the hills are all dead, all empty. No-one can live here'
'I ken, Bridie. I ken it's like that nou, but it wisnae aye so. Look, d'ye see they humps thonner, doon i th bottom of th glen?'
'What, just by that disgusting scummy pool?'
'Aye, Bridie, that's it. Thon wis a clachan, yince. Nou, look yonder, o'er the far side: do ye see thon bit dyke there? No, ayond th big patch o bracken -- Aye, that's it. That's anither clachan there. An see this waa we're leaning agen, at keeps the win fae blawin your crisps awa. What d'ye think this is? Aye, that wis a window yince. An' there wis anither hoose there, d'ye see it? An thonner?'
'I see it, Grandpa, I see it! and is that another one there?'
'Aye, so 'tis. D'ye want tae ken why th folk hae aa gone fae here?'
'Naa. We had that at school. All about the clearances and the scuzzy landlords burning the roof off peoples houses in the snow so they had to go to America.'
'Is thon whit they teach ye i th schule these days?'
'Yes. Can I have another one of your sandwiches -- thanks. I'll have a cheesy one. Grandpa...?'
'Aye?'
'Isn't it true, then?'
'Isna whit true?'
'About the clearances and all that stuff...'
'Aye, it's true enough in a way. But it's no why the hills are aa bare an empty, an it's no really why the folk hae gone. That's a much aler tale, an a much langer yin.'
'Is it one of the really old tales, Grandpa?'
'Mmmphmm.'
'Will you not tell it to me, then?'
'Why, Bridie, ye ken it fine. It's the yin ye caa "Little Red Riding Hood"'.
'Grandpa! Stop teasing me!'
'Dae ye want for me tae tell it t'ye, then, Bridie? Aye, well, we'll maybe hae juist enough time afore we'll need tae gaun doon for oor tea. Bide ye quiet, an I'll tell it ye'.
Whan th lang war wis dune, an th ice had faaen back, defeated, tae it's fortrace at th pole, they at hed focht under th banner of th Sun cam thegither in council. They spaak o th lands at hed bin made free, an wha should bide in them an hae th use o them. Efter they hed divided up aa th ither lands, they cam tae consider this bit we caa Scotland. Aa th fowk lookit at it, an spierit it a worthless land: a blout muir, a dreich an barren bit. A muckle fecht had bin focht here, an th airmies o th Ice hed torn awa ilka green thing, an every scrap o erd. Only th rocks remained under th rain an th benselling win. Een th Fowk whae Think Themsels Wise didna want this land, thei wha hed demandit dominion ower aa ither: it wis ower poor for them.
Then th lang dark yin spaak, sayin 'I hae stood i this land through aa th weary war, an hae resistit th Ice for every pairt o it. Gie this land tae me nou, an gie me time, an I sall mak o this empty yird a birthy gairden at mony fowk may share'. Then th fair siller yin said 'if ye wull venture this, I sall stand wi ye, an ye will hae me'. Last th al yin o th wuid said 'I too wull lend ye strength i this, if ye sould wish it.'
It wis decided so. Th fowk o th lang dark yin went intae th land, an travailled wi it, an laid doon thin soor scraw i th straths. Th fair siller fowk cam efter, an made th erd deeper an richer; an ahint followed th al fowk of th wuid, binding an howding an enriching th yird they had gained. Sae they went on through centuries, patiently, slowly, painstakingly, biggin th wile-wuid across Caleddon, tae th heid o ilka highest law, till aa th land wis rich as a gairden.
Nou at th land was fruitful, ither fowk cam intae it. Th tree-rinnin fowk cam, an th dam-biggers, an they in their turn helped big up th wile-wuid by spreading seeds, an by howdin th watter on th hills so at it did not tear th bruckle erd awa i strike rins. Feathert fowk o mony kins cam, an ornamented th wile-wuid wi bricht feathers an loud song. An th Branch Heidit fowk cam.
Intae th rich, dark wile-wuid cam th Branch Heidit fowk, an in its birthy depths they grew an multiplied. They ate aa at it wis guid for them tae eat, an yet they hungert. They ate the bark fae th trees, so at trees died an fell. They ate th shuits an th siplings, so no new trees grew.
Then th fowk of th wile-wuid went tae th King under th Green Hill, an said 'we hae taen th yird at wis gien tae us bi th Council o th Sun, because it wis waste an barren an nae ither fowk wanted it, an we hae made o it a fair green place. But nou ither fowk come, an waste th work we hae dune. It is no that we wad bar fowk fae our land, for we hae made it rich that mony fowk may be emplesed o't. Gin we let them spulzie our work, th yird wull agen lig blout, for th rain wull lave th soil fae it.' Then th King under th Green Hill gave thocht, an afterwards gave counsel. 'Fowk o th wile-wuid, ye ken th Grey Yin, for he tae stuid here i th North through aa th long ages o th Ice. Caa upon th Grey Yin to be Weir of th Wile-Wuid'.
So they caaed on th Grey Yin, an th Grey Yin thocht. Then th Grey Yin said to them, 'I sall come into your wile-wuid, an I sall weir your trees anent th Branch Heidit Fowk, if that will serve ye. But I sall not offer tae weir ye anent th Fowk whae Think Themselves Wise, for thon is a stent ower great for me'. Sae it wis reddit; an th fowk o th Grey Yin cam intae th wile-wuid tae wier it. They kept th nummers of th Branch Heidit fowk tae sic a level at th wile-wuid wis no hurt bi them, an when th Curve Horned fowk cam intae th land, they tentit them, too; an th land grew still richer.
Then th Fowk whae Think Themsels Wise lookit on th land, an saw at it wis guid. An they cam an settled in sic bits as suited them. They felled trees tae big their homes, an brunt trees tae mak girsing for their sheep. Then th al yins o th Wile-Wuid went tae th Grey Fowk, an said to them 'Weirs of th Wile-Wuid, wull ye hain it nou fae these new fowk whae spulzie it.'
Then th eldest among th Grey Fowk said 'we will hain your trees anent th Branch Heidit Fowk, an fae th Curve Horn Fowk, an fae aa th ither fowk wha gang on fower legs. But we canna proteck them fae th Fowk who Think Themsels Wise. They are as rapacious as th Fire an as unstopable as th Ice.'
Then th al yins o th Wile-Wuid said tae th Grey Fowk 'gin these fowk are not stoppit, they wull spulzie aa oor trees, an when they hae destroyed th trees, th rain wull lave awa aa th erd we hae biggit up till th hills are bare an blout. An then naething wull bide in this land.'
Th Grey Fowk looked ower th green laws, wi their great trees, wi their bonnie flooers, wi their rich fruits, wi their flocks o birds an herds o beasts, an saw hou fair they were. 'It is as ye say', they replied, 'but e'en so we canna weir ye anent th Fowk whae Think Themsels Wise'.
Th al yins o th Wile-Wuid bowed wi despair. Trying yin last cast, they said, 'Weirs of th Wile-Wuid, if ye wull not hain us anent th Fowk whae Think Themsels Wise, wull ye at least proteck us fae their sheep?'
Then th Grey Yins colloguit amang themsels. Yin said 'gin we dae this thing, we sall aa be slauchterit, an th wile-wuid will be spulzied efter us'.
Anither said 'whit wis th purpose o haining th land fae th Ice, if we let it be wrackit nou?'
At last, wi a heavy hairt, they greed tae hain th Wile-Wuid anent th sheep.
Whaur th wile-wuid was brunt, th grass grew rich an th sheep grew an multiplied. Then th fowk wha lived bi th sheep grew an multiplied, too, an belyve their sheep filled aa th girzings, so at there wis no enough girzing for them. Then they drave th sheep intae th shaws o th Wile-Wuid, whaur they ate th shuits an th siplings; then th Weirs of th Wile-Wuid fell upon th sheep, as they had hechtit.
Nou th al yins of th Fowk whae Think Themsels Wise went tae th yin they caaed their King, an said 'th Grey Fowk are reiving oor sheep, so at we sall sterve'.
Th King's Counsailor said 'th Grey Fowk tak only sheep whilk gaun intae th Wile-Wuid. Surely th pasturall is enough for us, sae at we can leave th Wile-Wuid tae them?'
But th King cast grabbie een on th birthy yirds o th Wile-Wuid, an said 'No! It is Mine, an I sall rule it, for I am Wise. I need its timmer for ma ships, so that I may weir us fae ma faes. I need its land for ye, ma fowk, so at ye may raise muckle airmies to weir us fae ma faes!'
'But Sire', spaak th Counsailor, fuilichtly, 'ye hae nae faes.' 'Onie yin wha speirs at there is onything i th world at is not Mine is ma fae!' cried th King. 'Ye are ma fae, for ye say at ye are not ma fae!'
Then he ordered that th Counsailor be heidit, an this wis dune; an he ordered that onie yin wha slauchterit yin of th Grey Fowk sould be rewairdit, an this wis dune. An th sheep girzed in th wile-wuid, an th Grey Fowk slew them; an th cottars slew the Grey Fowk; an th trees fell, an th spruits were eaten, an th rain laved away th erd, an th watters an th firths shauldit wi sleech that yince wis birthy yird.
At last, aa o th Grey Fowk were kilt, sauve for yin, wha wis left tae weir th wile-wuid his lane. Then he wis lonely; but also, he wis burdened bi th hecht at hed cam doon tae him. Whiles he kent that in time he would dee, or at he wid be slauchterit, an then, if he had nae waens tae follow him, there wid be nane tae weir th wile-wuid. Sae he glamourit himself lik tae th Fowk whae Think Themsels Wise, an biggit himself a bour in th shaws o th Wile-Wuid, not far fae a clachan.
Nou, among th fowk of th clachan was a girl they caaed Ruadh, whilk is th red yin. She wis willfu an bonnie, an aa th lads o th clachan courted her. She wad hae nane o them. Then, at th doonin o a day aboot th gloamin hoor, as she was gaitherin eldin in th Wile-Wuid, she cam upon th Grey Yin. She applesit him for his wildness an his mystery, an for his green een, whilk gliskit lik jowels in th nicht. He led her tae his bour, an wad hae her lay doon.
But she said 'No! First, show me that you luve me.'
Th Grey Yin admeirt her for her rush o fox-fire hair, for her narrow peenit face, for her brown een lik puils i th birkwuid. But mair as that he admeirt her for her birthy womb, whilk could bear a new Weir for th Wile-Wuid. So he said tae her at he luved her, an it wis not wholly a lee.
Then she said, 'if ye luve me, ye wull tell me your maist praicious secret'.
Th Grey Yin lookit at her, an saw her saft throat an her ripe, swelling hurdies, an thought of those who must hain th wile-wuid after him. An he said 'I will tell ye then. I am th Weir of th Wile-Wuid. I am th last Weir of th Wile-Wuid, an I need ye tae bear me biarns that they may weir th wile-wuid efter me.'
Then Ruadh thocht, this is a greater thing than onie o th lads o th clachan can gie me. An she did aff aa her claes blithely, an lay her doon aa douce an scuddie, an tuik his seed intae her.
As th days passed, Ruadh cam often at th doonin o th sun tae th bour i th Wile-Wuid, an opened hersel tae th Grey Yin's seed. But when she went back to th clachan, she saw th ither lasses wi th handsels their lovers had gien them. Bricht claes, skyrie whigmalieries, sticky sweeties. Then she started to ask th Grey Yin for mair. But aa he had tae gie her were th fruits o th wile-wuid, an those she didna prize.
Nou a hunter cam tae th clachan, an th hunter wis a pauchtie laird, an guid to luik on. He gave rich fairings tae th fowk wha housed him. Ruadh went tae th hunter, an said 'is there a rewaird for slaying th Grey Yins?'
Th hunter said at it wis so.
'Wid there be a muckle rewaird for slaying th last o th Grey Yins?'
Th hunter said at there wid.
'An whit wid ye gie tae th quaen whae led ye tae th last o th Grey Yins?'
Th hunter said he wid gie half th rewaird, an mony gifts forbye; an gin th quaen wis yin half sae fair as Ruadh wha tellt this tae him, why then he wid mak her his guidwife, an tak her hame to be Lady in his muckle tour.
So when th day cam, Ruadh led th hunter intae th Wile-Wuid earlier an she was used tae go, an hid him close by th bour. When th sun went doon, an th Grey Yin slid oot o th trees, she did off her claes an laid hersel doon for him, aa glisking sleekit i th gloam. Then, efter his seed wis sprung, an he lay by her, aa douce an lither, speaking saft wurds, th hunter steppit forward an hewed aff his haid wi an axe.
An sae th Weir o th Wile-Wuid deed; an after him, th sheep multiplied, an first they cleared th trees aff th land tae mak way for sheep; an then, when th rains cam, an laved th guid erd doon th watters, they cleared th fowk aff th land for th sheep. An then, when th rains cam an laved away what little erd wis left, th hills were bare an empty. An that's hou they are nou.
'Grandpa?'
'Aye?'
'Did Ruth get her reward?'
'D'ye think she should hae?'
'No! No, but did she?'
'Well, in a way she did, aye. They brunt her on a fire for fear she bare the wolf's bairns.'
'Oh....oh. Grandpa?'
'Aye?'
'Do you think that you are wise?'
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