Prodigal

Angus come across the moor, his stravaging done for the nonce.  Scandal gamboled to and fro, plumed tail waving like a flag – not surrender white  but sinful black. None kenned where the beast come frae. One Sunday, it was there by Angus’ bed, and he ne’er went to church again. He got taller, broader, too fast, and too fair for his own good, much less the lasses’. 

Mayhap his wandering takes him to other villages, where the women don’t know his wickedness – until they do. We keep our girls safe as best we can and pray someday he’ll move on.