Wynd

Fortune favoured us, and we got home without meeting a soul. Once we saw a man, who seemed not quite sober, passing along a street in front of us; but we hid in a door till he had disappeared up an opening such as there are here, steep little closes, or wynds, as they call them in Scotland.

He flew through the moonlight streets, clattering over cobbles, darting down narrow alleys and up twisty wynds, racing to his love.

Stirling's called an Edinburgh mini-me: the same winding wynds, the same historic core, castle, looming romantic hills. Only a lot cheaper.

This was then used as the base for the cocks of hay, or wyndes as we called them. […] A piece of hay with its ends firmly embedded in the base of the wynde was wound around the hay twine and knotted with it. The ball of twine was then thrown across the wynde and tied at the other side in the same way, and this process was repeated crossways.