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that sounded like tornados or pipes, just the continued sweet chirping of birds.  She firmly pressed her hand into the rock, but still nothing happened, as if the magic of bringing her here had sapped them of strength and now the stones were naught but stones, their use dormant until she could find the key to bring them to life again.  That being the case she felt that her only option at this point was to go beyond the stones, to leave the safety of the circle, find Robbie and demand that he send her back to where she came from.
    She turned and spoke to the middle of the stone circle, “Robbie?  Robbie, are you here?  Casper?”  Her only answer was the protest of birds disturbed by her presence. She thought, again, about the mysteries of her work and how adventure, knowledge and growth only came to those that jumped.
    “What the hell,” she said to herself, “let’s do it.”  She stepped past the stones, hoping to feel some kind of magical electrical current as she passed them, but again there was nothing.               She walked toward the brook hoping to slack her thirst, or maybe find Casper there waiting for her, but alas, as she approached there was no one. She kneeled at the edge of the water and scooped fresh, cold water into her mouth, drinking deeply.  The small brook ran with water transparent in its purity, undefiled by the hand of man’s industry.
    “Wow, they need to bottle this stuff.” she murmured to herself. 
    She got up from the edge of the brook and turned around to try to determine her next move and was struck senseless to discover that the monolith stones were now gone.  She stared at the place she had stood but moments ago and even though it was just as lovely as before, the stones were now missing.  Gone.
    Stella shook her head and braced herself.  She knew that any kind of normal life seemed improbable from this moment forward.  If she had any hope that the stones would be the portal home then that was just dashed to pieces. She held fast to her thin thread of bravery and walked back to where she had awakened. The small white heather plant beckoned her and she sat on the ground picking sprigs of the unusual white flower and tucking them into her hat band, contemplating her next step until her hat was completely circled in white heather.
    She looked up at the sky and determined that it was somewhere close to noon, maybe eleven thirty or so.  She’d gotten home from riding about eight in the evening so she was missing some time.  Or was she?  Maybe it was only moments ago that she fell in the studio.  She wasn’t sure about anything just now, but she knew she had to make a plan about getting out of here, especially if she was where she thought she was – Scotland in the 1600’s.
    “Damn that Robbie!  Damn him to hell,” she said out loud, hoping that if he were skulking around his ghost would hear exactly what she thought of him.  When and if she ever found him she intended to give him a good dressing down, a well deserved verbal ass kicking for his rudeness and presumption for leaving her all alone like this.
    She remembered what Barbara had said, Robbie was last known to be at Kilmartin and that was somewhere In the Highlands.  Were these the Highlands or were the Highlands the peaks she saw in the distance?  She noted the shadows and remembering what her father had taught her about orienteering she determined that the peaks were northwest, which would make them the Highlands. Okay, she had a direction and a goal.  Now she needed transportation.
    She opened up her backpack and took out her water bottle, filled it at the brook, returned it to her pack and after putting the pack back on headed north toward the peaks.  They looked to be several miles, maybe ten and that made for a long walk, so finding a horse would be a good idea, but she needed to avoid people.  Renaissance folks would probably not take to her in her present state of dress so she