As the day waxed bright, the battle waned dark. The war bands of Niafer and Laigin both retreated. At the end, it was impossible to tell which side I was fighting. I was caught in the middle of a clash near the most dangerous part of the bog. A few warriors had been pushed back too far and their desperate cries for help slowly faded away. Not wanting to share their fate, I used my sword to cut through the last blood-soaked knot of tangled spears and blades.

Finally I find myself very much alone. In the unexpected quiet, the events of the day buzz around my head like a swarm of flies. I feel a sting as I remember Morann's death. The first of how many I cut down today? A wave of trembling shock washes over me. I've lost my cloak, I have no horse, and I am still dressed in a man's breeks and leine. I marvel at the path that led me to this place.

Just as I am beginning to wonder where I shall go from here, I hear someone approaching. A tall, broadshouldered warrior moves slowly along, half carrying and half dragging a body. He is not carrying a fallen comrade home or he would be going the other way, away from the bog. My filthy clothes make it easy to flatten down on a thick mat of brown grass and become part of the dismal landscape. I keep my sword ready.

He seems to be searching for something. He steps so carefully. The arms and legs of his burden drag in the mire. When he passes near, I choke back a gasp. The corpse is Hadaig Night Raven. His hair is streaked with blood and brains. I see his axe hanging from the Niafer's belt. I bury my face in my hands. Soon I hear a thudding splash. I look up as the warrior lifts a log and tosses it into the pool, to be sure the Night Raven will never rise again.

My heart goes out to Baine, wherever she may be. Perhaps she, too, has been slain. As soon as the warrior is safely out of sight, I leave the boglands for the road. I don't know where I am going or what I will do now. I only know I must get away from this place.