My thoughts are always more smooth and clear while I am moving along a road. I feel myself as part of a flowing stream of eternal travelers, a mere drop of water in a mindless tide of motion, free of all care, nameless, faceless, and lost in the ghostly footsteps of everyone who has ever passed along this way. The day is not quite yet breaking as I trot my horse along An Bothar with the old Bruighaid's bull snorting and puffing behind me. I think back on Inver Colpa. I think of where I am now. And I think of what could be ahead of me.

It was quicker and easier to take the drunken young smith's sword than to go through a ritual of formalities. The Cath Milidh's insistence on a gift of compensation for Lorcan was very kind but hardly necessary. The old brughaid has more wealth than he can count himself. When he outfitted me for this errand, he had to ask a trusted servant to see to the expenses. Lorcan would appreciate the gesture of the Niafer war chief. Then he would absent mindedly tuck away whatever bauble I brought and go back to the business of operating the best bruidean in Eriu, which is all that really matters to him. As long as I bring back Dessel, the prize bull, a huge part of the bruidean's continued prosperity and status.

It was a random choice, the sword. It was there for the taking. Poor Thunder Spear must have treasured the weapon. He nearly wept when I named it as payment for the final game of a long string of dicing gone against his favor. As soon as I left the players and turned the corner, I unwrapped it to see what I'd won. A more ordinary sword could not exist. The blade, shiny and sharp, showed that the smith kept it in the best of care. Maybe it was his father's sword, or his grandsire's and that was why it was so precious to him.

Mine now and with no regrets. On sudden inspiration, I unfasten my own sword, an eyecatching blade with a flashy hilt carved of a stag's antler to fit my hand. I wrap it and its sheathe of rare red leather in the coarse swaddling of the smith's weapon. I will wear the ordinary sword at my waist now. It will bring me good luck and perhaps somehow Thunder's Spear's pitiful luck will change now that he is rid of it.

Putting Inver Colpa swiftly behind me, my thoughts fly ahead down this good road. Encumbered as I am by Dessel, there is little chance of going on a hunt for the thieves who took him and herded him to the Lughnasadh fair to be sold. The question of why continues to baffle me. After mulling this over and over, I decide to go straight to Cill Dara and forfeit the extra payment Lorcan promised if I brought the thieves to justice.

"I'll take you home as quickly as I can," I say to Dessel, not feeling at all foolish about talking to a bull. I don't mind being alone, in fact I prefer it. The bull is my fellow traveler, though. We are being swept together along the river-road.

Despite the camaraderie in my voice, something about it sets him off. He stops short and rolls a baleful eye at me. Irritated, I tug on the rope. "Come along, roast-on-the-hoof!" I call out with mock sweetness. "Come, pretty boy, we have far to go before you taste the good grass of home again!"

He lower his horns and snorts. I sense a fit of temper brewing and brace myself for a fight. He paws the ground and refuses to move. I cajole, coax and even make my best cow noises. That only infuriates him. With a roar and one furious toss of his head, he breaks free and charges, kicking up his heels with joy.

I thank the gods he charged into the meadow by the road and not at me and my horse. Resigning myself to the task, I turn my horses head the way the bull ran and give chase.