Out of nowhere, Amlaidh is suddenly at my side. He fights with fresh ferocity, apparently newly inspired by some spark unknown to me. Later the tale will be told. For now, I stand in awe of his exertions. He burns three times as brightly as he did before! The fanned flames of his beserker fire catch and spread to everyone around him. All of us now battle with renewed vigor.

Meanwhile Dobhar skillfully cuts Tine, my best bull, from a small group of stray kine and drives him towards the keep. Tine has proven himself as a warrior on this day, mercilessly goring and trampling anyone who was in his way - mostly Cumhaill, but a few Morna as well. Several of the cows go moon-eyed at his sudden departure and try to follow him, adding to the Morna's struggle to keep control of this raid. I whistle and yell, encouraging the lovesick heifers to run in the direction of Tine and the keep. They kick up their heels, overjoyed to have found a way of escaping the chaos of clashing shields and death dealing metal. I know they will find their way home safely.

Turning quickly back to matters at hand, my attention is drawn by a howling and a flurry of activity near the Cumhaill edge of the field.

"Their Ceanfine has fallen!" Fraoch shouts excitedly. He waves his spear over his head, motioning his men to gather around him. "It is over! Victory is ours!"

The Morna have heard it too and they crowd together, a flock of ravens waiting for the feast.

Slowly we approach the place where Eoghain bled. Does he stil live? Who gave him this blow, Niafer or Morna? It matters not. The chief of Cumhaill is down and we wait with the Morna for their surrender.