A/N: The town mentioned in this story does exist in Scotland, I've been there. It's called Beauly, and pronounced "Bowly" like a bowl with "ie" at the end.
A girl sits in a second storey window, Shore Street, Beauly, Scotland. A song plays over in her mind, one of tradition and history.
Her feet itch.
She lowers herself by a few well-tied belts and lands softly on the deserted alley cement.
Her feet are clad in soft shoes.
A dance as old as her ancestors sits in her head. She lightly bounces on her toes and begins to kick. The song plays on, her silent accompaniment.
Her dance becomes feverent.
Soon her dance is no longer in silence. The music in her head can be heard aloud.
The girl's heart beats in time and her mind races. She berates her clothing choice, her shirt from Amsterdam, her fitted jeans. These clothes were not made for this dance.
Her feet kick off in an uncommon leap.
She spies, as her frenzy turns her, a single person. Her sound is their music.
The moonlight glints off the two.
The girl gets lost in the tradition, her companion lost in history.
A battle rages back in time.
The girl and her music continue through the night, both lost in time.
As her feet settle, she smiles.
Neither girl will forget the magic of the Bagpipes.