Canto II

 Trees waving proud in full leaf,
The ground wet and deep beneath hoof,
The wind rushing from a screaming sky
Howling with the pounding and heavy breath
Of the moss-brown stallion, heaving and sweating.
Lightning sparks flying from stones
As iron-shod hooves dance up the hill
Towards the mound, the dun, black against the sky.
Conn the Black, he of a thousand battles,
Thrice blessed and thrice cursed,
Son of Donan, son of Crom the Red,
Hailing from the Westmarches,
Deep within the marsh mists,
Fey-friend and wielder of the Flaming Brand,
Bending forward into the stallion's whipping mane,
His breath ragged, his hair crow-dark with life of its own
His eyes warm glowing with emeral fire.
Urgent, he urged Blackmane on
His message a sword cutting the threads of time.
Two paths spread from this moment -
The message the cross-roads.
Urgent was the news, urgent for ears to fly to.
The lips of brave Conn trembled,
Trembled to let loose the fateful words,
His heart beating pace with hammering hooves.

Slán