They took no further time to examine the gully in which they found themselves - a sheer sided gash cut through the mountainside by some long dry river - but hurried on. The going made difficult by the darkness, for the moon was as yet a sliver in the sky and emitted little light. 

In the gully stones glowed pale, as though with their own light, protruding from the high dark banks on either side.

Down, down, down they went, pebbles dislodged bouced ahead of them, their noise alarming in the still night. From a great distance away came the screeech of a vixen, the unearthly wail freezing Beibhinn's heart. For one moment she thought it was a woman's scream.

In the dark below her steps sank and crunched. Peering down she beheld the fuzzy tangle of what had once been a too-bold sheep.

"Ack!" she yelped, springing forwards and grabbing Conn about the shoulders, almost toppling him.  He cursed furiously, seizing a pale rock in the gully side, but that came free, bouncing down into the channel with a rattling clatter that seemed to shiver all the way back to An Beitheach's tunnel.

They froze, listening breathlessly until the echoes died away unanswered and  the mountain's silence fell again.

"Amadán," muttered Conn

"Sheep," specified Beibhinn, willfully misunderstanding him, "Though an amadán it was, to enter this gully"

Conn snorted, looking sideways at her with the expression reserved for the astoundingly simple-minded. Beibhinn caught his look despite the dim light and smiled demurely back, by now well over her shock.

And then the vixen's wail came again,  tearing through the night.

"Sionnach," whispered Beibhinn rather shakily, as it died away again.

"Of course," replied Conn, still in a tone for the exceedingly young and the exceedingly slow. But his voice shook a little.

Then they hurried on faster, scrambling and sliding, all the more conscious of the  noise they made with every fall and stumble. Beibhinn could feel blood trickling down her knees and palms, but fear and cold deadened the pain.

In front she saw Conn's shadow go down, gasping aloud, but did not dare speak to ask his hurt. He was up again in a moment, scrambling on, but now his shadow jerked and listed.

His ankle, we cannot afford that.

The hoarse sceam rent the night once more. Behind. But closer. And something in its tone was different, striking to her heart like no animal's cry ever could.

It was human.  Or something similar...

An Bean Sídhe! She dared not utter the creature's name, only push Conn on yet faster before her..and pray.

Gasping and shaking they came to where the gully's sides were lower and struggled up the flaking peat with limbs that could scarcely hold them,

A long way down the mountain they seemed to have come, but still its blank flanks stretched on into the darkness, impassable miles from the nearest hearth.

Her breath came loud in her ears, the desperate strugggle for air excluding all other thoughts. Then Conn snatched her arm, startling her back.

"Ohhh!" He quavered, "Oh - oh -" a faint curse and then another, "Loook!"

Beibhin looked.

Away to the right fingers of mist swirled over the mountain's sides. Grey wisps hanging in the darkness.

"Ceo," she whispered. This was too much! Could there be no help for their flight?

"A..and..." stuttered Conn, terror seeming to have a humbling effect on him. Even as she watched tiny pricks of blue white flame winked above the heather, shimmering in the dark band beneath the mist. Beibhinn seized Conn's shoulder as her knees began to buckle, bending her will to keep mind and body together.

Turning to look back at the gully she saw the same flickering blue stretch across the ground beyond it, braking into a  hundred points that winked in the night, extinguishing, lighting, shifting in eerie dance.

"Down into the gully! Quickly!"

They fell to the bottom, trembling violently.

"If we but had some Rowan branches" moaned Conn.

The night was drawing in about them, freezing heaviness pinning them into the channel, holding them there.

"Ch - ch -" Beibhinn's words stuck hoarsely, she swallowed, scrabbling inside the collar of her léine. "Choke on your Rowan!" she managed, "I have this."

On a chain from about her neck she drew out something that winked silver - a tiny crucifix.

"Pow - power of good that'll be," Conn sneered. Beibhinn hadn't words to reply. Squeezing her hand about the tiny crucifix she made the sign of the cross before her, and with a dry prayer against the ice in her heart scrambled on down the gully.

****

The night was without end, blundering blindly through the black, every so often harried by the banshee's wail, sometimes near, sometimes distant, in front, behind. But every time it drew away what remained of Beibhinn's nerve. Her will folding, refusing to push her leg on.

By now the little cross had become embedded in her palm, as her fist squeezed about it 'til her knuckles cracked.

They could not touch her....they could not...Somewhere out there was home. The firelight...safety...she had to keep....going..

Keep going they did, until the world about them turned pale  and grey with dawn. Thank God!

Then out of the gully and across the sodden heather, blundering though the thick, cloying fog.

The wet shall hide our tracks..

Suddenly the ground seemed to give way, yawning into another gully unseen in the murk.

With a tangle of yells Beibhinn ad Conn tumbled in. An there on the bottom they stayed, bruised, battered and utterly exhausted.

The mist did not clear, leaving them imprisoned in a grey-walled cell; its swirls creeping down to settle damply on their clothes, covering their hair with tiny gems.

Beibhinn sat back against the gully's peaty sides, listening to the silence. Her breaths came normal once more.

Somewhere above that heavy grey blancket the sun shone. She eased off the grip on her cross, stretching her cramped fingers and leaving her palm decorated with a deep purple-white indent.

Conn appeared to have recovered somewhat. Enough to begin to rummage in the bag he still carried and take out oatcakes.

"Here," he fired two at her, "At least the wailing old cow did not steal these."

Beibhinn kissed her little crucifix, fastening it once more about her neck. Go raibh míle maith agat.

Then she smiled her thanks over at Conn and started breakfast.

Author's note:

Ooooo...creepy things! Noice! Should've brought them into this earlier, whatcha think?

The prospect of further eerie things is attractive...as is the hope that some folks are still reading at this point...please vote and comment if you're still alive.

Ugh! I am fed up!