…and the evil king was slain.
With no heirs to the riches he amassed from his plunders, the wealth was distributed among the people.
The feast usually prepared for the evil one was now shared among all. As the sun set on such a victorious day the people ate heartily, laughed and slept in soft beds of straw and pelts.
The recorder of the days victories put down her quill and parchment and washed fragrant water through her hair. With a kiss to her fingertips she waves a good night to all those she loves. Her soft trundle awaits as her eyelids grow heavy.
Oíche mhaith is Codladh sámh, a ghrá mo chroí she speaks quietly as she kisses her love good night.

 

 
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