Having no steed to ride, I set out on foot for Magh Croimor early the night before the warriors left the rath. I am accustomed to walking wherever I go. On foot, there is more chance of meeting interesting people and having an adventure here or there. But I am never averse to accepting whatever ease might be offered along the way. No, I was not invited to accompany Dobhar and his band for I am only a wandering seannachie of no prestige or high rank. Neither am I especially ambitious for such things. Yet I am no beggar! My songs, tales and jugglings earn all sorts of favors, from princes' gold to lover's trystings. It is enough for me to be able to come and go as I please, roving in the warmer seasons and knowing that I have a place by the Niafer hearth after Samhain.

The clan bard, MacMorna, clearly intended to stay at the keep. Knowing how Dobhar glories in praise, it struck me as unseemly that there would be no one outside of his fellow warriors to bear witness and remember whatever is to come of this challenge. The Rian's own Fianna na Rua Filidh, of course, are among Dobhar's chosen companions, each of them easily nine times nine more well-versed than I. Still, I feel called to attend in case they are all too busy swinging their splendid weapons and happen to miss some small detail of the battle.

So I walk as far and as fast as I can, with hopes that Dobhar's small army will take the same road and pass by soon. If the luck is with me, one of them will take me with them the rest of the way to Magh Cromoir.

I prop up against a roadside tree to doze awhile, leaving one ear awake for the sound of hoofbeats. Before very long, someone comes. Old Enna! With a yawn and a stretch, I rise and step out where he will see me.

"Well, well, if it isn't the bastard son of the fox himself!" Enna and his horse both snort at me, reluctant to stop. "By Dagda's stick! What are you doing here, man? Tell, have you seen any of the dung-kicking Cumhaill come this way?"

"No, I have seen neither dung-kickers nor louse-eaters this morn," I sing out in reply, "I am going to Magh Croimor to see our war chief crush them under his smallest toe. I marvel that he needs anyone to ride with him unless it is to rinse the stink off his foot afterwards!"

Enna rewards these jests with an appreciative cackle. "Too bad I can't carry you with me..."

Finally it is Fenian, the last of the riders, who kindly smiles upon me. Off to Magh Croimor I go!