A summer gale was blowing up, so Algy flew over to a sheltered spot he knew, where a large mass of rock provided an excellent windbreak for the prevailing south-westerlies. Winter gales, spring gales, summer gales… and soon, no doubt, autumn gales. It seemed as though the wind had almost never stopped blowing this year – and the rain had rarely stopped raining. Algy gazed at the washed-out landscape as the mist swept in yet again, and wondered whether summer would ever return to the wild West Highlands…

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