There is no great fanfare for me. The bodhráns beat and the pipers on the hillside play, but the targes, swords, and heads are preset, left in place from Scathach's marvellous exhibition hours before. I feel much like the sapling poet who must sing after the king's chief bard. I would not be able to perform such feats had I not witnessed them beforehand, and yet I wish I would not have to follow such a perfect presentation. Scathach's victory cries still ring in my ears; these will feed my resolve to prove myself. After an hour of leapaidh lánlaidhí, focusing on anáil and dùisg, I am prepared to meet the challenge extended to me. Ciannait and the maidens take their places around Scathach, who now reclines in the furred seat at An Beith agus Troid ar an bhFarraige. I stand before them, naked and freshly oiled. My limbs tingle with the flow of warm, Lochlann blood. With cool confidence, I look deep into Scathach's large, dark-blue eyes. When the bodhráns change their rhythm I begin my dance round The Chariot Wheel. My sunwise jig begins, and I circle the hall thrice. This ritual gets the wheel spinning, guiding the spectators into the Otherworld, where my dance of life and death begins. The onlooking sisterhood sway and gasp with my rapid sprint around the wheel and back before Scathach at An Beith agus Troid ar an bhFarraige. Ciannait speaks to me. No, it's her voice in my head...she speaks the wood-notes of Sgáith. This is merely the opening, Ábhar! Do not try to impress us so soon and then fall from the Sgáith when you need the Cleas the most. Be wise. She is right. Without missing a beat, I smile and bow before Scathach. Then I get on with the dance, taking my Urra's wisdom to heart. Pipes begin, a new tune this time. Ciannait had told me they never play the same song twice. This way I cannot associate Scathach's feats with this melody. The dance must be all my own, and so it shall be. With a Salmon Leap I launch myself onto Cóemfind's targe - the one emblazoned with the two-headed horse. With a series of swift-footed gambols and canters, I dance round a great golden spike. My foot catches the rim of the shield and flings it upside down, and I lodge the spiked targe into the ground. I hear moans of approval from the crowd. Springing myself onto the farthest targe, I play the same series of footwork, this time a wee bit faster. Stepping hard upon the edge of the shield, it flies into my hand, and I toss it to its owner. Brídín catches it with one hand and laughs with those around her. Across each of the remaining targes I bound, seemingly heedless of the spikes below me. When one can become one with the shadows - the Sgáith - one nearly becomes immaterial. Torchlight may be absorbed by the shadows, but it casts a bright sheen on steel spikes, making them that much easier to be mindful of. I am a stag in a moonlit hunt! I begin my second dance from Eternity's birthplace. With stomps that kick up dust, I emulate the vigorous dance of the bull, returning to the circle where the weapons lie. I am about to take one when I notice that nine sisters have made a circle around me and have taken up their weapons from the Chariot Wheel. At once they all come at me - svelte raptors descending to prey upon the oiled, sinewy Tarbh. With an axe in hand I meet each of them, all the while maintaining my accelerating dance. Our bladed arms arc in spirals of shining iron, carving knotwork patterns in the air and issuing brilliant sparks with contact. With my well-rehearsed Hero's Scream I shatter the sisters' blades, and they return to their seats with great satisfaction. I am a red-horned bull in the Land of the Dead. The final dance commences when the pipers change their tune and the bodhráns cease. There is no sound save my own breathing and the disturbing, mournful wail of the pipes. This change in mood will not deter me. I use the Salmon Leap to bound over the circle of severed heads and perform uncanny footwork between sword blades. I make five times five circles round the Chariot Wheel. The heads whisper softly, singing along to the pipers' song. They each tell the story of their horrible deaths by the spear and sword of the Deirfiúrachas Sgáith. Have I just mastered the Toghairm Feat? I seem to have summoned the ghosts of the severed heads. Such a feat can give a warrior great knowledge, secrets lost to the world of the living. I am a salmon in a pool of wisdom!