I arrive at the bonfires in time to watch MacMorna sail with ease across the bonfires - twice! Not bad for a man of his years. Holding my breath, I join the crowd in watching pensively as he makes his third leap. I exhale as he sails through the air, fully expecting him to land safely on the other side with barely a singed hair. But wait! What's this? He lights up like a bullrush torch and shouts the loudest curses I've heard in years. I try not to laugh, but it's just too funny.

"Hey Mac! You're not supposed to celebrate until after the third leap," I tease.

"Let's see YOU do better!" he sputters.

Oh drat. Here we go again. Why is it men think we women incapable of heroic deeds? Does he even know who he's talking to? Scatach? Queen of Shadows? Head of the most famous martial arts school in all of Celtia? Sheesh! I leap the bonfires three times with ease, all the while laughing at the state of our burnt bard: singed, soaked and a sight for sorry sight.

Then I relent and give him a skin of uisge to lift his spirits and warm his innards.

"Now get thee to the Mull and warm yourself by the fire!"