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Forests are everywhere in stories....and we found ourselves in one right here, on Bute, looking for a chambered cairn near Kilmichael.

We left our bikes behind a barn, and panted up a hill in the sunshine, then picked our way through brambles and lush green undergrowth, our biking trainers soaked with dew, wondering why anyone would have chosen to lug such big stones from the beach and up the hill to bury their chieftain. Or maybe it was a chieftess - lain gently in the earth, a white swan's feather across her breast?

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