The banquet has drawn an enormous crowd, and to my delight I am asked many times to dance. The village seems to have begun to welcome me, and I am beginning to think of it as 'home'. I decline the gracious offers, comfortable for now to just sit and abserve the gay festivities. After awhile, though, the commotion becomes too overwhelming, and I retire outside to a quiet spot near the river Boyne, not far from the dottings of buildings made by my new clanspeople. I recline slowly in the long grass, and the fronds kiss my forehead. With a sigh, I gaze up at the bright stars in the night sky, as dark as the waters of the Boyne at mid-night.

Lying silently, I begin to hear voices not far off. "Is it this village then?" "We must continue what we have started." "It is all for the glory. The golden one will bring prosperity to all!" The cryptic language is spoken in such a hushed whisper, yet it travels through the tall grass like poisonous snakes. The same sense of ominous foreboding grips me, as it did on the night my mother and sisters were taken. Making as little noise as possible, I roll onto my stomach and slither towards the voices. Suddenly, I hear a laugh that stops me mid-writhe and turns my blood to ice water. It is the same laugh I heard that horrible night, when my only living family was brutalized and stolen from me. The laugh which echoes in my nightmares every time I close me eyes. The deep baritone that haunts my every moment and interrupts my momentary joys. With the recognition of the voice, I feel my strength draining, my arms feel too weak to hold me up on my knees. I must stay keen now, I know my life depends on it, but I begin to feel the same sense of doom I did on the day I came crawling into Inver Colpa at death's doorstep. My body involuntarily shudders and collapses. The rustling of the weeds attracts the snake-men.

Now that they approach, my blood begins to course again. Too quickly now. I am filling with rage. With a sense of vengeance so strong I could explode. Which is precisely what I do. The recollection of my infant brother's brutal torturing, my mother's merciless slaughter, and the abduction of my young sisters for fates unimaginable has rendered me incapable of reason. I grab my small dagger from my waist belt and launch myself at the nearest whisperer.

A druid?? What is a druid doing here? These men were bandits, murderers, despicable life forms. How could they be druids. Then the shining one appears. The one who laughed. I had somehow managed to bury my dagger into the shoulder socket of the nearest druid, but at the sight of the golden-haired leader, I rip myself away and run towards the shining one at an inhuman speed. My dagger drawn, I prepare to slice it deep into his vulnerable gut.


Ah, Brighid. So this is what death feels like. Not like the slow, agonizing starvation and freezing I endured on my family's death, but like this - quick, warm, and final. I had been so close to the Crom Cruach (for that is the name his disciples called as they acted to save him), so close to slaying the horrible dragon. Yet when I could almost smell his blood, mine was spilled first. One of the druids emerged from behind him holding a long pike, like those in the northern territories use. I didn't even see as its pointed tip entered my body just left of my breastbone, piercing my heart. I barely felt it even, I was still trying to kill Crom Cruach as my own life force was bubbling out my mouth. Ah, Brighid. Guide me to the Summerlands. Help me find my father, my mother, my baby brother and my sisters again. How I miss them so.