Standing here on Hiort I wonder why the birds do not fall from the sky. A mighty storm whip at my body. At my side my faithful hound Padriag. His coat and my hair ripple like a forest of kelp in the storm ridden ocean.
Eubh hands me a gobel formed from crystal clear ice. Within it sparkling patterns flow, emerald and pink. I lift the gobel, but Padraig knocks it from my grip. Spraying the contents over himself and Eubh. Each turns into ice.
Forever will I hear Padriag howling in the wind