Blood pounded in the young Scot's ears as they led him out of his cell. Quickly he upturned his face to the raining sky and felt God's hand squeeze his shoulder as if to say, "You'll do fine." The young Scot wasn't sure he'd be fine, his body was shaking like whiskey in a drunk man's hand. He could see the English Captain standing on the platform doing his small monkey dance for the crowd, whip in hand. The site of this made bile creep up his neck and a bloom of fear swell in his chest. How was he supposed to face death now that he was whimpering like a hungry babe? One of the English soldiers next to him tightened his grip as he sensed the young man's fear. That gave the Scot a moment of happiness, he'd lived his life wonderfully battling agiaints the evil tyranny of the bloody redcoats and now, just like his friends and even family he would pay the dreaded price. When they reached the platform he stood taller so all the other Scotsmen that were watching could have the courage too. The tall scrawny English Captain was no where near as tall and broad as the Scot yet he managed to slip the brand new noose around his fiery red mane and fierce blue eyes. Tears of pride welled in the young Scot's eyes and with one last breath called to his forefathers in a battle cry that sent the English and Scotsmen to the ground as he came to join them.