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“What festivals do you celebrate, Miss Fairbairn?” Fairbairn blushed “Oh aye, Tweedale keeps a busy calendar. In the spring we’ve our Common Ridings, like most o’ the Borders folk. We saddle up, ride the old marches, and make sure the land’s still ours — or just enjoy pretending it matters as much as it used to. I rode in them every year since I was wee — my da insisted on it. It’s grand, though. Horses, pipers, banners flying… all set against the green hills and the River Tweed shining below. ”
She smiled a bit. “And since the river’s the heart o’ the valley, we fold in our Fly-Fishing Festival the same weekend. You’ve never seen half the village gathered on the riverbanks arguing about whose cast is bonniest. There’s casting competitions, fly-tying contests, salmon stalls, music… it feels like the whole valley comes alive.”
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“Summer brings the Highland Games — proper caber toss, hill races, enough piping to burst your eardrums. And come winter, we’ve St. Andrew’s Day, then a wee Christmas Market in the square. Lights, mulled wine, handwoven tweed gifts — all simple, but it warms ye to the bones.”
She finished softly: “It’s no’ a big place, but Tweedale celebrates well. You’d like it, I think.”
Edward smiled. “The way you speak of Tweedale… it’s as if I can see it in my mind. The river, the hills, the banners, the lights at Christmastide…It sounds like a place full of love and memory.”
He looked at her with genuine affection. “I’d be honored to see it with you one day. Even if just to understand the world that shaped you. And if you’d teach me to fish—” he chuckled softly, “—well, I’d try my very best not to shame myself in front of your folk.”
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Sora
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Lovely atmosphere described and enjoyed the Scottish dialogue