The fog did not burn off as hoped and they passed most of the day in blundering about the mountainsides. Up and down gullies, through thickets and across heathery moor. Conn led the way with more confidence than accuracy, once walking Beibhinn into a bog, and then pulling her out, with many comments on her stupidity.

The mud coated her skirt up to her knees, weighing her down and making walking even more difficult.

Once, through the mists, they thought they heard the sound of men and dogs and hid deep in the wet heather. But the thick clouds soon swallowed the sounds and let them carry on. Hurrying ever faster and stopping for neither rest nor food, they found their way into the tree line eventually and went on down through the drippping woods. The ground grew flatter and the trees thinner and they found themselves in mist - free lowlands as evening was coming down. 

Ahead the countryside rolled away as a mottled blanket of woods and cleared land, but no sign of habitation was to be seen. No, not even the smoke of a distant dwelling.

"Which side of the mountain are we on?" asked Beibhinn, by now knowing only too sharply that wilderness surrounded the mountain on all its fronts but one. "West," said Conn, turning to face the blue-red of the distant horizon.

"And in what place does An Chlann Ó' Chinnéide dwell?"

"North," Conn turned slightly, but to Beibhinn's ears he did not sound overly certain.

"Well then," she said aloud, "Let us put greater distance between ourselves and the mountain,"

This they did, wandering the forested hills for a long time in what they hoped was the right direction. As the moon rose they reached the top of a low smooth hill, topped by a crest of bushy oaks

"Go hiontach!"  exclaimed Conn in delight as they passed between the trees into a dry, stonewalled hollow in the centre.

Beibhinn did not reply. Her anxious gaze flitted about the ring of trees, taking in their perfect circle and the broken stones that showed between them like bleached bones sticking from the earth.

A fairy rath! And the moon was already up... her throat tightened.

"Conn!" she called in an urgent whisper, "We must go. Quickly!"

"Why?" asked Conn, turning from his own explorations. He stood in the very centre of the darkening ring, where a single stunted hawthorn bush bloomed alone. White flowers glowing in the gloaming.

Unseasonally late for hawthorn to flower...

"It is a fairy fort you lúdramán!" hissed Beibhinn, 'Do you want to pass a night here?

Conn made a face, turning to wander to the band of trees. "Why not?" he said, "The ground is dry."

Beibhinn stamped her foot. The fool! To tarry here. Could he not feel - it? The very air of the place lay still and heavy, clinign to her like bog slime. The crunch of dried leaves as Conn settled himself in a hollow souded alarmingly loud. Loud enough for other ears to hear.

"Well I shall not stay!" she declared, beginning to walk towards the outside, her steps hurrying and tangling as the evening sky showed clearer between the trees.

"I don't care," she heard Conn say. Glancing back she saw him curled comfortably beneath one of the great oaks, wrapped in his mantle, the tree's mossy roots stretching out aroud him.

"Amadán," she muttered, "I hope you will have as much to say in the morning."

Beibhinn hurried down the hill, slipping and sliding, balking at the crunching of her own feet.

It was  wicked that place, with its silent trees. She had to get away. Had to. Her hands clenched in terror, sighting a shadow that danced on the grass.

Only her own..

Beibhinn drew breath, hand creeping inside her collar to grasp the cross once more.

But she could not abandon Conn, fool that he was...

 Her steps slowed and she looked back at the trees - a smudge against the darkening sky. Terror chilled her heart.

No. she shrank from the thought.  She had not courage to return.

Weariness clawed at her, her steps stumbling. At the base of the hill grew a thick clump of gorse The tiny space in the middle dry and hard to intrude upon. She wanted to be hidden.

Lying flat, Beibhinn wormed her way into the middle, pulling the prickles from her tangled hair. The powdery earth she knelt on smelled terribly of fox. What did it matter? It was safe. 

Safer than that...fool...Conn...in his ..fort..

                                                                                       ..ring...

                                                                                                        .. his...fing..

                                                                                                                                ..ro

                                                                                                                                            rt...

                                                                                                                                                       ..h

                                                                                                                                                               i

                                                                                                                                                                   s...

Beibhinn slept.