“I think perhaps the greatest burden lies in caring for those we cannot help.” “Not in having no one for whom to care?” Fraser paused before answering; “That is emptiness,” he said at last, softly. “But no great burden.”
He’d felt the whole of it an illusion. Had waked on the field, convinced he was dead, relieved it was over, the pain, the heartbreak, the struggle. Then had truly waked, to find Jack Randall lying dead on top of him, the captain’s dead weight having cut off circulation to his wounded leg and saved him from bleeding to death—one final ill turn, one last indignity.
I have been trying to figure out if I was more Randall or Fraser, and what I realised is that I’m more you than I am either of my Father’s, and if I can turn out to be half the woman you are, then I’ll be fine.
A lot the elements Sam had to go through to create the wild man character; we brought a butcher in and showed him how to carve up a deer. He had to spend time with archery training. And also, the same fishmonger came in and showed him how to gut a fish.