What Scathach suggests is unheard of but, given the circumstances, there are few of the Deirfiúrachas Sgáith (Shadow Sisterhood) who can argue with her decision. Only the rash Fainche Blood-hair makes a protest by withdrawing her sgian dubh as she passes through tree and stone to protect her hallowed sanctuary. Naturally, it would be the greatest of dishonours to slay her teacher, the Cath-Rían. As Scathach's Leithéid (counterpart), I am the Shadow's shadow - mightnight starfire. The Deirfiúrachas Sgáith only express their displeasure with Scathach through me.

Though silent as smoke, Fainche's anger ripples through the shadows at a piercing volume, and I prick up my sensitive ears. With a stomp of my foot to the earth I perform the Thunder Feat, stunning Fainche and shaking the dagger from her grasp. The foolhardy Deirféar collapses, shivering from the shock and massaging her broken jaw.

Obeying my mistress's request, the two of us ascend in a Salmon Leap as the Sgàith (Shadow) reacquaints us with old friends - the treacherous wind, steep fiord-land, and the black depths of Ob Gauscavaig. Wind, land, and sea all guide us through the proper aerial path to the other side of the bridge. Scathach and I are two expertly thrown javelins as sure to hit our marks as two calves are to hit upon their cow's paps.

From our vantage point, I can make out the distant figures of Niamh and Cinaedh being led toward the dún by my Urra, Ciannait Threchíchech. A moment later we alight upon the shores of the Misty Isle. Our friends, including the Brude Verica and her entourage, are little more than an aisling vision on the other side of the bridge.

From our shoulderbags Scathach and I each remove a pinch of mossy oak bark and chew the ancient meat. The propterties of Duir are manifold and include manipulation of Air and Earth. With the powers of Oak one may pass between worlds without ever moving. And so it happens that when Scathach and I join hands and take the reins of the Otherworld, here becomes there, and there becomes here. Before anyone can reckon what has happened, the land at the other end of the bridge is the land upon which we stand, and vice versa. Scathach and I are back at Caol Loch Aillse and our friends are on the other side, safely transported to Dunscaith.

With another Salmon Leap, Scathach and I once again return to her isle and join our allies. We are greeted with amazement and confusion. "Followers of the Sgàith are not druids, like our Fedelm," Scathach carefully explains. "To those such as she, the Imbas Forosnai is ever-present and as natural as breath. The path we walk allows us to occasionally tap the Imbas Forosnai, drink from its pool, and perform wondrous feats, but they are specific to Cleas, or the battle-arts."

She Who Must Be Feared continues to explain as the party follows the winding path up to Màrrach Mòr. There, they may bathe themselves and dress in the plaid raiment of Dunscaith. I've no doubt that my mistress will heap great luxuries upon the fellowship and even kill ol' Bristleback as the main course of the feast. I have a song or two to add to the canon of heroic tales that I will introduce tonight, and if we're in especially good fortune, Scathach herself with perform her spear-dance!

I allow the others to go ahead, up the torchlit hill to the dún, while I wait near the water. I notice that the Cu Sídhe messenger Lugh was not among the guests. He must still be at Caol Loch Aillse with the scouts of the Deirfiúrachas Sgáith. If they do find Aoife, they had best keep Lugh far away from her.