Song is not created from nothing. Raw music and verse are harvested and refined, and presented into the world of men by the Fili. Like the smith and the weaver, my kind must have natural, rough materials with which to work. But the Fili's materials cannot be handled like iron and flax. The Imbas Forosnai, of heart and mind, is the well-spring from which our wisdom, tools, and raw material flow. I hear its harmonious discordance always, a whispering descant underscoring and embellishing upon all sounds in the natural world. Great things can be gleaned from the Imbas Forosnai, the pulse of the Otherworld. Unseen things, such as ancient history, faraway events, and noble lineages. Often Brehons and Ovates consult the Fili in matters of import, for our connection to the Otherworld often reveals more to us than to the other great Draoi.

Upon entering Verica's broch, I pass dangerously close to her, unable to do otherwise. Her hand falls into mine and our eyes meet, as though there were nothing more natural - as sure as a falling leaf will alight upon the earth. This strange moment takes the two of us by surprise only after it happens, and Dobhar hones his teeth against one another at the sight of it.

I withdraw myself with great reluctance, retreating to a space of floor by the hearth-fire. Staring into the red and gold flames, I focus on the delicate but dissonant whispers of the Imbas, sieving through the noise for a song that will be heard above the rest. I pull my cloak tightly around me and close my eyes, but the red and gold fire shines through and illuminates my darkness. The song is simple but insistent:

Celyddon!