Nestled into the trees along the banks of Loch Maree, sat the cabin. It was a grand affair from the outside, modern with jaunty angles and an aluminium roof, even from across the great Loch you could see the dull sunlight shimmering off the rooftop. It hid quite well in it's surroundings and was a good 5 minute drive from the nearest road, down a rough dirt track, weaving through the trees to the water's edge. Evening was approaching and it was starting to get dark. There were rain clouds sweeping low over the shimmering water's surface, the tiny licks of light at the windows of the cabin glowed gently against the darkness of the dense trees behind.
The heat from the log burner flushed the cold out of the room and sealed it against draughts. The low, orange light from the window on the stove's front danced across the room and cast long strange shadows. This cabin was starting to look like a home, Graham thought as he leant on the broom he had been using to expel the dust from the floors. Graham glanced around at the cabin's main area, with fond memories of his childhood rushing back, he yanked the sheet off the sofa and coughed as dust was thrown up into the air. The sofa was old, it had been moved here when his parents had redone the living room when he was a child. It was now a dingy cream colour, a far cry from it's original bright white.
He slumped into a chair at the oak table, it was a a bit notched and scuffed now but he remembered watching his Father labour over refurbishing it for hours and hours, he smiled and stroked it's hard, warm surface, feeling the initials scratched into the underside, G.S and R.S. Graham and Robert Stone, his brother.
Speaking of which, Robert had been gone a long time now, longer than expected. When they had reached the cabin earlier that day they had found the gas bottles in the cooker empty and the diesel generator that provided all the electric dangerously low. So, whilst Graham had lit a fire, tidied up and scrubbed the surfaces, Robert had taken the old Ford pick-up truck he loved so much, to the fuel station they had passed on the way here. He'd been gone near 2 hours now and it wasn't that far, he must be enjoying a cruise around. Robert adored his truck, he had got it on his 18th birthday from their Grandfather. A 1980 F-250 truck, it was near un-drivable when he'd received it, but now it was in showroom condition, brought back to life by Robert's countless hours and love that had gone into it and it was now a thing of beauty, midnight blue and silver with plush leather seats.
Graham picked himself up and stashed the broom back in the cupboard by the back door, next to the coat rack and decided he would go and have a look at the little wooden dinghy in the old boat house, to give it a once over. As he bent for the tool box he heard the crunch of the Ford's big tires on the gravelled driveway.
"About time". He muttered, stepping toward the door.