In the midst of the battle, I fight a war of me own against the bog that wants to devour me alive. Keu-Nuada leaps out of the ditch and leaves me to fend for meself. I flail and thrash, to no avail; no strong-arm reaches back to save me. All around me men are dyin' noble deaths while I hang onto my shield, goin' down like a drowning rat and spewing bog water from mouth and nose until me arms and legs are too heavy and I can fight na more. My hands grasp tight onto the pretty raven-bossed shield I carried all these summers but it is ripped from my fingers. With a last breath, I roar out a curse that only comes out as a gurgle. I'm blinded with murk. This is the end.

Next thing I know Morrigan's ravens are greetin' me so merrily, caw-caw-caw! Greetin' me? I died no warrior's death. There's a sharp tug on me beard that make me eyes pop open, and by Dagda's stick I'm beak to bloody beak with a blackbird. Not greetin' me but eatin' me! I squawk, the raven squawks and he drops the sprig of mud-caked beard he plucked. The bone-picker and his glutted minions take to the skies, laughing.

I laugh with them. What a jest. I am still bemired up to the chin but alive. Someway I must have come back up just enough to keep me breath. That or else the bog dinna like the taste of me and spit me out. I can feel the bottom underfoot. Slow and heavy, I start pushing to the bank of this slimey ditch. Little by little, creeping like a worm, I come out of it!

The battle is long over, the fields scavanged clean of bodies and loot. Raven-ridden horse corpses feed the battle hag's chidren. A reek of putrid smoke is still hanging in the air. The thief that took my shield will pay dearly if ever our paths cross. The bog took the sword I had but the dagger is still on me waist. I find a little pool, wipe off my only weapon and then scrub meself with handfuls of wetted weeds.

Sunset smears the sky red. I find the road and walk until me legs get too weary. Then I sleep in the woods, dagger in hand. Sooner or later I'll be home again.