Dessel has led me into a very sticky situation. Now that I am close enough to have a good look at the man who so smoothly took charge of the rebellious bull, I see that he matches perfectly the description of the cattle peddler at the Lughnasadh fair who sold Dessel to the Rian of Niafer. His right forearm bears the unmistakable tattoo of a raven in flight. I stand face to face with a thief who is likely a murderer too.

We play a bluffing game. He insists the bull is his. I insist the bull is mine. He puts on haughty cattlelord airs and I put on my coldest warrior facade. He appears to be unarmed but I make a move for my sword to force his hand, if he has a hidden weapon.

The game is interrupted by the sweet calling of his woman, who comes down the hill with his boots in her hand. Still acting the part of the cattlelord, he suggests with a glance that I should sheathe my sword out of respect for his "wife." With wild hair and the simple forest dress of a woodswoman, she doesn't look like one who would go pale at the sight of a naked blade. Her openly curious gaze sweeps over me and comes to rest on my sword.

A dagger flashes in her hand. Another strand ensnares me in this sticky web. She says I have her sword! Now what?

I chose to enter this arena. Right away, I was impaled on the horns of a dilemma. One horn - I could have simply killed the thief as soon as I recognized him, necessary but not something I would have enjoyed. Now I'm glad I didn't for surely his mate would have pounced on me like a she-wolf. Two horn - I could have walked away and left Dessel to his own fate, but I am a person of honor.

Throwing sand in the bull's eyes by bluffing, only made things worse.

And so, at dagger point, I decide to respond to the dilemma by singing the bull to sleep, so to speak. That may buy me some time to make another plan.

I let my mouth fall open in an idiotic gape. I make a sweeping bow, sink down on one knee, and with a gesture sure to charm her, I present the sword to the dagger-woman.

With head humbly lowered, I begin my song of innocence. "May I have the honor of returning this to you? This is a confusing and embarrassing situation, milady, beyond my simple understanding! Forgive me, please. I am just a wandering vagabond. I won this sword and the bull in a game of dice. I know not how either of them got into the hands of their previous owners. Now your sword and your husband's bull have found their way back to you and rightfully so!"

The lady's soft sigh may as well be the snoring of a two-horned dilemma, safely put to sleep, at least for the moment. With a light touch, she takes the sword from my upraised hands. I stay hunched down, awaiting her permission to rise. While I am staring at her feet, I get the feeling that I have mired myself even more deeply into this sticky mess.

"Thank you, vagabond!" she gushes. "Will you join us at the local hostel for a cup of ale and perhaps some supper?"

Her husband is not as cordial. He glares at me jealously. I feel the need to say something to win him over as well. Might as well plunge headfirst into this stinking pit, since I'm thoroughly mired anyway. I cough a little and wink at him. "If you don't mind supping with an outlaw," I grin.

And that's how I end up at the Sea Hag.

(A note: remedies for dilemma are from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Not exactly ancient Celtic lit but how do we know they didn't use similar techniques? ~ Las)