He appears on a muddy, soil-based track!

It's drizzling lightly, and unusually warm for a rainy day in Scotland. On either side the muddy path lie patchy tree-lined fields. There are building shapes in that direction and woods in the other one.

Disorientation, and memories of pain but no actual pain, greet Macadam as he stands up.

The first thing he notices, perhaps out of an engineer's pride, is that he is not by a paved turnpike anymore. He tries to recall what happened, but it's mostly indistinct noise and light.

He looks around where he's standing a bit more. It really doesn't look interesting at all. He supposes he'll head down the (sigh) dirt road towards what appear to be buildings.

The only rocks in this path are naturalistic size and shapes, 😔.

There's a few people working in the - well, somewhere between 'fields' and 'garden plots' - but they're not looking this way, won't notice if he keeps walking.

Macadam looks over the people, to see if he recognizes styles of dress, but other than that, he's walking onward. Is there any evidence of the wheel here, or is this just a path beaten down by feet?

They're wearing loose, belted tunics in weak shades of green and purple and orange, subtle hints of mud stains. Three of them have hoods up and a fourth has short dark hair.

There's a pair of wheel ruts, not deep; possible evidence of hoof prints, but definitely not recently.

He doesn't recognize this style. At least they have the wheel, though it's small comfort; he makes a mental note of the wheel width. He'll press onward.

Pretty normal width for a light wooden cart? (The gauge is probably narrower than you'd have a horse draw.)

Presently he comes to a better vantage point on the buildings. Looks like mostly one snaking complex, stone walls patched with wood, a low slate roof with wide thatched eaves. One person is sitting on a bench under the eaves with a drop spindle in hand and a wooden staff leaning on the bench beside them. They stare at Mr Macadam for a while, drop the spindle, bang the staff against the wall twice, then call out a few words. It sounds like... a woman speaking no language he has ever heard.

Wonderful. "Pardon me, ma'am?" he asks, a bit worried. Who would kidnap a civil engineer and leave him in the middle of nowhere, anyway? A rival turnpike trust?

She points at him in a large, hesitant gesture, then twirls both her hands outwards twice. Her face has settled on an expression that probably helps convey the message You... what???

"Hello," he says slowly, staring. Should he flap his arms? He waves slowly (he doesn't attempt to smile, he's Scottish). "...Britain?"