I have been at Conaglin's hall since the Solstice -- a three-moon. Every night has been spent with the most lavish of dinners and entertainments, dances and merriment to while away the cold nights and lift my spirits. My grief for Dermot's death is chased away by the the bevy of lovely, dancing lasses who swoon when I put my fingers to the harp. "Ah, bean-sídhe, you are a delight to eye, heart and loins!" Iubhan and I chase the giddy maids through the hall, spewing colorful verses to weaken the knees in their young, long legs. Och, so good it feels to cast off my melancholy and return to life again!

When the bonfires have turned to embers and the horns are empty, the crowd of Daoine Sídhe break off into pairs and disappear into the shadows. Even Conaglin and his bride Muirin have stolen away to their bed. It is now that I must take my leave of this splendid faery hill. Collecting my things, I pour myself one last horn of wine, for the road. I have not been above ground since the thaw, and I am pleased with the mild, fragrant breeze that whispers of Beltaine's nearing. Near the bottom of the hill a young shepherd, no more than fourteen winters, keeps vigil over his flock. "Angus Og!" he cries enthusiastically, upon seeing my approach. My eyes grow misty, and I return his cry with a smile. My heart swells to see that we, of the old race, are still kept alive in the hearts of even the youngest of Mil's children.

"Oíche mhaith, my fine lad. Do you know if the brothers Fenian and Amlaidh make their home in the village downriver?"

"The forester called Fenian and the ferryman called Amlaidh live outside the village, m'lord," the boy proudly states. "Only they are not brothers, to my knowledge, begging your pardon. And they cannot be found there tonight. Fenian is at Magh Croimor, in the Cath Milidh's retinue." He then lowers his voice and looks behind him, as though to be sure no one else may hear what follows, "And the whereabouts of the ferryman are unknown. He disappeared mysteriously more than a fortnight ago, along with the Cath Milidh's mistress! The womenfolk say they became lovers and escaped back to Pictland, where the blue people live!"

"Is that so?" I ask with great interest and a little suspicion. "Well, you can be sure that they are brothers, my boy. Tell me, when is Fenian expected back from Magh Croimor?"

The young shepherd begins to make his answer, when I sense a disturbance in a grove of birch. Instructing him to stay put, I step softly across the green floor to what appears to be a bier! On it lies a young woman of fiery red hair and the look of the ancient house of Dana. She is undoubtedly of faery blood, but who is she? She has been prepared for burial, it is obvious, but she has been left as though someone expects her to return to life. By the rise and fall of her chest and the movement in her lips, I would say she already has. The ley lines that cross through this birch grove are strong and have held her here in the mortal world. My Niafer grandsons will have to wait; this lady should not wake alone in the darkest hour of night.