And though it's good to see our war chief happily united with his horse, he'd best have a care Dearg does not break one of his spindly legs trying to maneuver the northern fells. He may be tall and sleek, but he is no match for our sturdy native breeds when it comes to navigating such rough terrain. Sneer as some will at their size, at 12 to 14 hands high, they are large, strong and robust enough to carry a fully armed warrior to Dunscaith and beyond.

I lovingly stroke my new horse's graceful neck and long to ride her. Chuckling, I recall Conall and Briar dragging me and Drust to the pastures where the renowned MacRoth herd grazes during the warmer seasons. An impressive sight it was too, with breeds from around the world dotting the vast plain. At the sight of the shaggy northern horses, my heart ached for the Caith mare I left in Cean Tir. Briar saw the tears before I could blink them away, smiled and gently explained that they had brought us there to help them select the horses we would need to carry us and our supplies. They also asked a secret favour of me in return for a horse of my own. They wanted me to foretell their life together and how many children they would have. I nodded and Drust and I ran through the fields like children, happily choosing our favourites.

A great stallion the colour of Drust's blood-red hair snorted and pawed the ground as we passed. My lover's eyes shone bright with admiration. Conall shook his head no. "My father's war horse," was all the explanation needed. "But you can have his son," our generous host amended and wave graciously toward a younger chip off the stallion's block. "This breed is said to have been brought to Éire by our Milesian ancestors. They're fast, sleek and sturdy. The perfect mount for a warrior such as yourself. I broke him myself. He's a bit high strung, but easy to manage - once you've let him know who's boss," Conall chortled and gave Drust a hand up. After a short battle of wills, man and beast raced as one across the green toward the fort and back, hair, mane and tail streaming behind them like a battle omen.

Then it was my turn. I scanned the herd until I saw a filly with a black coat that shone purple in the sun, like my own hair, and her large, gentle eyes were the same deep smoky violet as mine. I fell instantly in love. Conall nodded his approval and helped me up. Such a lovely ride! She had a smooth gait and was a joy to handle. While Drust and I tested our new mounts, Conall and Briar spread a blanket under an old shady tree and set it with a repast fit for kings: fresh-baked bread, creamy sheep's cheese, wildflower honey, a leg of lamb, a skin of mead. Our pleasant task done, we broke our fast with our charming hosts, after which Drust went for a walk while I cast the ogham sticks. What I saw, and what I told the loving couple, was for their ears only. All I will say is that they are thrice blessed. I will miss Dunadd. No greater hospitality have I known since leaving Caith.

I look wistfully at my mare, then at Verica, who has stopped suddenly to study a map. It appears our road has become a deer path! I warned the Fellowship of the possible dangers by land as well as by sea. I described the long stretches of impenetrable woods I encountered on my journey South from Caith and how I had to slash my way through seeming endless growths of underbrush while always seeking a beaten path, a travelled road, or a stretch of beach.

I groan inwardly at the prospect and envision Scathach and Amlaidh sailing merrily down river. Manannan must be with them, for they have deftly manoeuvred the currach past Coire Bhreacain, the huge whirlpool at the mouth of the River Add sailors in these parts believe to be the cauldron in which the Cailleach washes her breacan. They say she causes the tides to crash together, forcing sea water into narrow vortices. The sheer size of it terrified us on our way in, especially Verica, who turned pale as a caoineag, clung to the mast and sang a haunting song in the ancient Calydon tongue. While I sympathise with her fears, I know our seafaring friends will be in the shadow realm long before we arrive.

Ah well. I heave a huge sigh and clear my vision. There will be plenty of time for hunting and gathering nuts, berries and healing herbs, if not for riding. I rub my sweet mare behind the ears and softly chant Faolán Dubh in her ear, the name Conall gave her the day her broke her. Why he called her Wild Black Wolf, he didn't say. I suspect I'll find out before we reach our destination.

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Sources:
Fell Pony Museum: Ponies or Horses
Fell Pony Museum: Foreign influences
Animals of the Iron Age
Dartmoor pony