It was about the time in the Tir when conversation got thin and contentment reigned. Roisin came in, hoping for a pint and a chinwag, and found only deep calm. She settled for the pint, but the quiet nagged at her, and the warm fire and the excellent ale did nothing to dispel it.
She spied the door to Acc's back room, where the ale and other necessaries were kept, and felt the spirit of curiosity fill her. She tried to ignore it, but couldn't. When she finished her pint, she decided to satisfy it.
The door creaked open as she turned the knob, and she found herself in a dank, long room. A row of large wooden casks was lined up against the wall, and a row of well worn pewter pitchers hung from hooks above them. The whole room had the lovely, musty smell of an underground wine cellar, fruity, and woody, and rich with the aging of years of fine vintages.
The row was familiar at first, ales and meads and ciders of various types. As she went further, the row got older, and the labels grew ever harder to decipher. The smell changed subtly too, in a way she did not recognize. Was that the smell of magic??
At the end of the row, past the casks, past the pitchers and neat rows of tankards and glassware, past Collen's Stoli and all the other bottles that sat neatly on their shelves, was a large brass-bound door.

More later, and Quill! Help me rewrite this!!!

The huge door was heavy, and Roisin had to push hard to open it. It finally gave a groan and let her into the room beyond.

The smell was stronger here, and the light stronger. A large fire burned in the center of the room, and a large pig was roasting on a spit over it.

Following the trail of rose petals left by Roisin, Quill stumbles after her through the various rooms; and past the dark shapes and shadows of things she knew not of. It scared her, the clammy walls, the dank smell and the sounds of creatures scurring about. "Roisin," Quill whispers fearful that she might get an answer. Entering through the door that groaned out a song from rusty hinges, she sees also the roasting pig. Roisin stands by the hearth and is about to cut off a piece of the meat. Finding herself hungry too, Quill calls out to her friend, "Roisin, merry meet. I'll take some sustenance too, if ye be cutting for yourself, please continue and procure a portion for me."
"Your voice sounds shaky," Roisin remarks as her knife makes quick work of the meat. "Get a trencher from the table, there, Quill," she points with her knife. Meat dangled from its point. "I hope to find a wizard or a magician in this place."
Quill smiled as she went to Roisin's side with the trencher. "Ahh, I was correct in my assumption that you were a bit taken by the ennui."
"Ah, Quill, I was bitten by ennui, if you must know the truth. So, I have made my way to this room, hoping to find adventure. I see you followed me with no difficulty."
Remembering the fear that overwhelmed her earlier, Quill said, "It was difficult, I assure you, friend."
"Let's make tonight an adventure and get us a wizard to make enchantments for us," Roisin laughed. Her brown eyes sparkled in the firelight.
"You look a bit like a wizard right now, Roisin."

"I don't feel like one" Roisin said, an amused look on her face. "The real wizard is the one who made all this." She turned back to the roast pig and her eyes widened. "Quill--look at this!"

The pig was perfect and unmarked. It turned on its spit, crusty brown and delicious. As they stared at it, a wee man came running into the room, carved a huge chunk from it and speared it neatly before it could fall. He slammed it onto a platter, hung the flesh fork neatly onto the wall, and ran out the other door. He didn't seem to notice the pair by the door. As they watched, astonished, the pig grew whole again.

Roisin unfroze first, and looked at the door, the pig, the room. She noticed then there was a freshly slaughtered pig hanging from a hook in one corner, and as she looked out the window, she saw yet another pig rooting happily in a fenced pen outside. A large cauldron hung over another fire in the corner, and she noticed then that the fires never seemed to need tending, and never changed. It dawned on her then what she was seeing, and why she smelled magic. Her fear disappeared. She was truly in the kitchen of a Brewy.

The other door beckoned, and she walked over to it. "I've got to see where that platter's going", Roisin said. "You game, Quill?"

"Right behind you Roisin!" Quill smiled. "You first of course." Taking one last look at the magical room, where if not a comfortable room, at least it offered safety, she hiked up her skirts to follow the adventurous Roisin.

Just then, the wee man came through the opposite door, the one Roisin and Quill had originally come in. The two barely had time to exchange looks before he spoke. "Where have you two been?" He sounded more harried than exasperated as he shoved a large pitcher into Quill's hands and the meat tray into Roisin's. "They don't like to be kept waiting, you know," he continued as he methodically filled the tray with steaming slices of roast pork.

Quick as thought, he was herding the astonished pair through the other door, which led them out of the Tir entirely and into the open air. They had no time to enjoy the scenery though, for he all but ran across the yard to a hill with another large door set into it. It creaked open at his touch, and he turned back to see what was keeping them.

"Hurry up, now, you can daydream later" he said impatiently, though not unkindly. He disappeared through the door.

Roisin couldn't see anything through the open door, even though the sun was at their backs and should have been streaming through it. It was as if a black curtain swallowed up the wee man as he passed through. She could feel Quill edging behind her, and though she felt a bit uncertain herself, she stepped through. After all, what was an adventure without a bit of risk? As she did so, the light disappeared, and Quill's gasp of surprise was cut off.

Roisin poked her head back through to see her friend looking at the place she had disappeared. She looked down at herself and saw that only the parts of her that were outside the doorframe showed. She pulled her head back in, and was once again in near darkness. A long earthwalled tunnel led deeper into the hillside. The wee man paused and beckoned impatiently from down the tunnel.

Roisin poked her head back out. "Come on, Quill, you can't see one side from the other!"

Quill stepped through the doorway cautiously, and found herself in another tunnel. It smelled strange, in a way she couldn't identify, and a muffled rumbling came from far down it. The pair trailed after the wee man as fast as the could with their loads. As they caught up to him, they could hear him grumbling softly.

"Walk my legs off, will they? Has to come from Acc's place, they said? Damned lazy warriors should fetch and carry for themselves, I say!"

He went on in this vein all the way down the long tunnel. Quill and Roisin exchanged amused looks. As they got farther down, the torches set in the wall gave an indistinct light. The rumbling slowly began to resolve into the sound of drums. As they got closer, they began to hear fiddles and flutes, and the sounds of laughter and conversation.

At the end was another large brass-bound door. The wee man looked briefly behind him to make sure his helpers were following, then threw his weight against it. It took all his strength, they could see him straining, but the door groaned open and a blast of light and noise greeted them as it did.

The wee man gave Roisin and Quill no chance to marvel, but herded them quickly inside toward the head of the tables. He was all smiles now, joking with the richly dressed folk that filled the hall. He guided the two expertly between the people, directing them to serve meat and pour mead. The Otherworldly folk seemed to expect such treatment, and smiled and laughed with their servers.

At last, the trays were nearly empty, and the wee man gestured in the direction of a table in the corner, where other trays rested. He took no more notice of them. Roisin looked at the tables and saw some empty seats near the end. She looked at Quill. "You know, I think we deserve something to eat after all that". Roisin sat down next to a handsome man in dark blue and gold. Quill slid into the seat beside her.

(I just had a large section typed in and the blasted computer crashed! Okay, I can handle this as I pick up the quill to start again. Sigh)
Quill eyed the table and evident lack of silverware. Turning to whisper to Roisin, she asked, "How do you suppose we're to eat without any knives or forks?"
Picking up a portion of quail in her fingers, Roisin chuckled, "I don't think it's a good idea to stand on Ms. Etiquette's rule of table manners in this century, Quill. They've never heard of the book. I imagine, so you don't offend anyone, you should get the food to your mouth anyway you can."
Before, she could say anything, the handsome man reached over with a bit of meat. He paused before her lips proffering the meat from his fingers. "Open m'lady so that I may place a morsel tween your sweet lips."
Startled at his deep voice, she turned to look at him, and her mouth dropped open. He genlty popped the meat pass her lips.
Quill's face turned a bright red.
Roisin sat laughing at her friend. "Well done, sir!"
Quickly, the man held another piece before her and and again popped it into her mouth.
"Quill, he must think ye too skinny for his tastes and so is fattening you up," Roisin chuckled. She stopped long enough to take a sip from her mug of ale.
Quill turned redder, but continue to take the morsels offered. Embarrassed, she tried to give Roisin a reprimand by kicking her as hard as she could under the table. She hoped she broke Roisin's leg.
Her friend only laughed harder.
Voices from other tables drifted over and snatches of conversation could be heard. They spoke in Gaelic, the lilt of their voices musical.
On some unspoken command, the music became louder and quicker. Voices hushed to listen.
Several couples made their way around the tables to the cleared center of the room. They began to dance. Their deft movements commanded every eye in the room.
Somewhere a voice joined in singing of old Irish legends:

"Fróech was the son of Idath Foltrúad (the Red-Haired). This noble youth of the Fir
Domnainn, who lived on the borders of the foreign territories, had such a reputation for
beauty and valour that the daughters of kings and leaders of men all loved him. He had so
many sweethearts and lovers that he didn’t take a wife for twelve years after setting up a
household."

"Bóann the prophetess had said to Bé Finn (fair woman), Fróech’s mother, ‘tell your son
not to attempt to woo a woman, for the year he takes a wife will be the year I shed tears.
And tell him not to fight with the Hound of the Tricks, for he will not profit from it - the lad
from Muirthemne Plain will gain the upper hand. And tell him not to swim in dark water,
for there his blood will be shed. And tell him not to pledge his weapons, Bé Finn.’"

"However, there were many beautiful girls of marriageable age, and this prohibition caused
Fróech much anguish. One such girl was Treblann, granddaughter of Óengus of Síd an
Broga, who loved Fróech before she ever saw him, because of the many stories of his
bravery she had heard. Treblann was a foster-daughter of Coirpre Nia Fer, son of Ros,
the king of Tara, for in those days the nobles of the sons of Míl used to take the
daughters of the Síde into fosterage, so that they wouldn’t ruin the corn or milk or
blossom in the land of Ireland. When Coirpre heard of Treblann’s love for Fróech, he
summoned her to his counsel house and forbade her from having anything to do with him.
He promised he would find her a greater warrior than Fróech.

"Treblann went to her sunny chamber, among her beautiful women, and wept violently. She
summoned her messenger, Laigech Lámfota (Longhand), and said, ‘Go to Fróech in
Crúachan, where he sleeps tonight, and tell him that Coirpre Nia Fer has said that he will
find me a better warrior than him. Tell him if he comes for me, I will go with him.’

The words of the song carried around the room...Quill and Roisin listened.......when the singing stopped, the handsome man stood and offered his arm to Quill and whispered into her ear. She rose and let him lead her to the dance floor. He swung her around, smiling, urging her to follow his steps. Before she knew it, she was borne on the notes of the music.

Bravo! ~clapping~

Roisin watched for a moment, enjoying the music and the setting. She noticed that there were instruments without players up on the musician's dais, and so she grabbed her tankard of ale and went over to the players. A lean woman in a blue leine and purple brat was playing a bodhran, and another instrument, a lovely thing with a thick grey head and an oak rim was leaning against the wall next to her. Roisin sat down beside her and gestured towards the beautiful instrument.

"Go ahead" said the woman, "I was wondering when you were going to show up, you know!" She went back to playing.

Roisin picked up the drum. The skin was perfect, taut enough to play expressively, and without blemish. lighter grey veins danced across its surface, and the sticks in back curved in a "y" shape, rather than the usual crossed sticks pattern she was used to. They were thicker too, and fit her hand as if made for it, not biting into it as most drums did. The singer pulled her bodhran beater out of her pocket and began to play.

Roisin played cautiously at first, matching the drummer beside her, but soon could not resist throwing in other beats. She couldn't tell when it happened, but soon the two became one, playing off each others' beats and using the differing tones the two drums were capable of to make a layer of rhythm under the melody carried by the other instruments. The room narrowed to the sound of the music and the drum. She almost missed the call for the end, but stopped in time.

The other drummer leaned over, looking curiously at the beater in Roisin's hand. "Where'd you get that then?" she asked.

Roisin passed the tipper over to her fellow player. "A Faire, awhile back," she answered. "I've never seen another like it."

The drummer passed her own beater over to Roisin.

it was of a wood Roisin had never seen before, light both in color and weight, and harder than wood should be. She tapped it against the rim of the bodhran she was using. It rang with a pure tone. completely unlike wood.

The other drummer was watching Roisin, amusement in her eyes. "Haven't you seen one of those before, then?" She handed Roisin's rosewood beater back to her and repossessed her own. "I like yours, but I wouldn't play anything too solid with it." She tapped out a quick beat against the metal goblet she held in her other hand. It rang tunefully. Roisin could see the beater was unmarked.

"You could play armor with that!" she exclaimed.

"You could", allowed the drummer. "I'm Aine, and pleased to see you at last. I take it you're Roisin?"

"Yes", Roisin said dumbly. "How do you know my name?"

Aine smiled, stood and took Roisin's hand, raising her to her feet. "Acc told me you'd be along" she said, as if it were obvious to anyone. "That's your bodhran, isn't it?"

Roisin looked at the lovely instrument in her hand, wishing it were true. Honesty won out though, and she shook her head. "I've never seen it before in my life", she answered sadly.

"Nonsense!", said Aine. "See, your name's on it, and if the last set is any guide, it sings for you. As if it would play like that for anyone but its partner!" She began to lead Roisin back to the tables. "I'm famished!" She grabbed a trencher and began to pile roast beef and oatcakes on it.

Roisin looked for Quill, realizing guiltily that she'd forgotten all about her friend while the music had played. She spied her then, in the middle of the dance floor, her head thrown back in laughter, the handsome man in blue still beside her.

Aine's eyes followed Roisin's to the pair on the floor. "So Diarmuid's taken a fancy to her, has he?" She paused to take a bite and a drink. "You won't be seeing her till morning."

"You don't know Quill", Roisin answered. "If she leaves the party, it won't be Diarmuid who decides for her."

"Who said anything about decisions", Aine replied, digging her companion in the ribs and griining wickedly.

Two men in matching white leinte sat down on either side of the pair. "And where have you two been", Aine demanded. "We could have used you for the last set--did the women you left with make it back all right?"

"Did *they* make it back all right?" the one beside Roisin demanded, "What about us?"

"You can take care of yourself", Aine retorted. She turned to Roisin. "And I'm forgetting my manners. Meet the two Maines". She gestured to the two miscreants flanking them.

They grinned back at her mischeviously. The one behind Aine reached down and goosed her. Aine whipped around to slap him, but he ducked just in time. When he straightened, laughing, she was ready and caught him below the ear. "Ow!" he yelled, rubbing it. The other Maine exploded in laughter, raising his hands as Aine turned to glare at him.

Sweat glistened across Quill's brow when her feet finally came to rest. She had been swept away into a world of music and movement. The room stopped spinning and the light flickered back into their lamps once more.

"Thank you, sir, for the dance," she said to her partner between gulps of air.

He held her arm steady and leaned closer to offer her support. She looked about for her friend Roisin. Panic rose in her stomach until she spotted her in a cluster of people.

"Roisin!" Quill called and nodded to her partner to follow her across the crowded room.

"The center of attention, I see," she beamed at Roisin. "I didn't see you for a moment and thought I was left alone.

Roisin whispers an aside to Quill: "I wouldn't leave you in the middle of a story Quill."

Startled, Quill does an aside back, "Good. Just remember I'll turn the story into a Broadway musical if you ever do."

"More like the center of a melee," Aine said. "These are the two Maines, and I'm Aine," she said in way of introduction. "This is Roisin and you must be the Quill?" she arched an eyebrow.

Caught off guard, Quill's mouth dropped open, but she quickly closed it lest a bit of food fly into it from somewhere. "How'd you know who we are? We haven't been here before, or at least not to my knowledge."

Aine chuckled, "Knowledge is a funny ting as my grandmother used to say. It comes and goes and we find ourselves knowing some of the strangest tings and can't remember where we know them from."

Quill glanced at Roisin who only shrugged back.

"And the strangest things happen when you follow the path wherever it leads", Roisin said, "or in our case, the tunnel". She sat back and picked up her tankard of mead.

Diarmuid pulled a bench out and invited Quill to sit, then took a seat beside her. "Aine", he said, "Tell us a Tale,then!"

"Do I look like a common talespinner, then?" Aine asked indignantly. But she rose to her feet and waited proudly for their complete attention. When she had it, she began:

We were wise, oh so wise, not given to lies or deceit.
Juggled starlight at our fingertips, wore diamonds at our feet.
We showed you ways to play old airs, we said we could be friends,
But when our backs were turned, you got us in the end.

We're the mystery of the lake when the water's still.
We're the laughter in the twilight you can hear beyond the hill.
We stay around to watch you laugh, destroy yourselves for fun,
But you won't see us, we've gone sideways to the sun.

(with apologies to Horslips--the departure of the Tuatha De)

When Aine was finished, the listeners were silent. Tears were running freely down Roisin's face, and she wiped them away impatiently.

Diarmuid chose that moment to whisper something in Quill's ear. She blushed, and whispered back before rising to her feet. His handsome face fell, but he caught her hand quickly, and apologized eloquently. Quill's face softened and she sat back down.

Aine observed all this unabashedly. "So, you've at last found one who isn't instantly at your beck and call", she said, heedless of tact.

Diarmuid shot her a dirty look. "Do you mind?" He turned to Quill. "You must excuse Aine", he said, "She was raised by wolves".

"Quite right", Aine retorted. "And I know one when I see one!"

"Ahhh, that we could live in a story of our own making, Diarmuid. But there is always an Aine about to bring us back to reality," Quill whispered to him. "I do thank you for the dance, kind sir. You showed me steps that I knew nothing of."

The kind sir laughed at her words and raised his mug in a silent toast.

"Roisin and how was your weekend?" Quill asked a bit out of character, but curious at how fared her friend.

"Shall we pursue more adventure?" Roisin asked.

And Quill nodded.

"What would you see?" asked one of the Maines. He swung his feet down from the tabletop and set his tankard down with a thump. "The whole world waits outside!"

Roisin turned to Quill. "I suppose it's a bit late to remember that we might never make it back to the home we left. We can only hope that the Tir will allow us safe passage to our own time and place." She stood. "I'd love to see it!"

The Maines led the way out of the noisy feasting hall and into the twilight beyond. The sounds of laughter and song followed them out, and Roisin wondered if she was following the right course or if she'd never see the Pixie again.

The dead Pixie popped her head inside the Feasting Hall just then, and looked around the well lit, noisy room curiously. No Roisin, no Quill. She was disappointed, for she'd had a Pixie Trick right up her tattered sleeve, and was just all afire to pull it. She took a tankard of mead from a tray as it passed, and took a drink. Her bony face fell theatrically as the mead splashed through her jawbone and trickled down her ribs, making a puddle on the floor and soaking her tattered leine.

She hurdled the window frame, and went to Aine, who started violently as the bony thing suddenly appeared at her elbow.

"What is it you want?" Aine inquired.

The Pixie pointed at the door back to the Tir, and to the musician's dais. She opened her jaw, but only a whisper of freezing air came out. She tried again, and got a slight whisper. *Rooosiiin* travelled faintly on it.

"She's not here", Aine said, annoyed. "The Maines took her away, and we didn't even get the song from her and the story from Quill that we were promised." Aine looked the Pixie in her eye sockets. "Now if you find them, bring them back straight away, and I'll tell you where the dead rats lay."

The Pixie reached inside her tattered leine, into her rib cage, and pulled out a perfect skeletal rat. It sat in her hand, looking up at Aine curiously from it's empty sockets. It ran up the Pixie's arm and settled on her shoulder, and turned to sink it's long teeth into her cloak. The Pixie slapped at it with a skeletal hand, and the teeth retreated, though the bony rat kept its seat. The Pixie nodded once to Aine, then was off quick as thought through the door.

The two followed Maine down the road that led through the endless twilight. Quill looked over her shoulder nervously, and Roisin felt a chill herself. Her mind was briefly filled with the image of a clock, hands spinning wildly out of control. It was then that the horses swept down on them.

They came silently, unseen until they were upon the small party. Roisin felt herself thrown across a saddlebow, and struggled wildly, to no avail. A cold hand held her tightly, and the horse she lay across was cold underneath her. She heard Quill's wild scream, and the sound of wood hitting something solid.

With another wild swing of the wooden club, Quill hoped to hit another assailant over the head. The first one lay on the ground clutching his head and moaning.

She faced the other one who circled her warily. Moonlight glinted off bits of his armor.

"Come now lass," he spoke firmly to her. "It's not in the script. Ye are to be coming nicely along with us. No trouble now."

Hair tossed and wind blown, her skirst flying in a frenzy, Quill did her best to keep him at bay. She swung again when he lunged forward and cuffed him a glancing blow on the ear.

Now was her chance. She ran for a horse.

Looking for Roisin, Quill saw her friend galloping across the meadow or rather the rump of her friend across the saddlebow.

Grapping the reins, and a stirrup, Quill pulled herself into the saddle and kicked the horse to follow.

She gave a glance to the ones she left behind and saw that they were in hot pursuit.

"Oh me," she whispered to herself. "Tis a fine mess you've gotten us into now, Roisin. We get out of this and I want a week's vacation on the sandy shores of Jamaica."

Tearing across the moonlit hills, Quill urges her steed to a faster pace. Her hand bumped against the hilt of a sword tied to the saddle.

She wished it brought comfort, but sword fighting was not in her repertoir. No matter, Quill thought to herself, it was better if only for staging.

"Hold on Roisin. I'll get you away from that dirty cut throat!"

Quill rode over the crest of the next hill and nearly ran over the horse that Roisin had been on.

The saddle was empty. Pulling hard on the reins to stop her own horse, then circle back to the other horse, Quill called softly to Roisin.

"Roisin! Where the devil are you?"

The Dead Pixie glided silently down the road, rat-skeleton riding contentedly on her shoulder in the eternal twilight,leaving no trace of her passing. The breeze rustled her tatters and sang softly through her bones. It would have been a pleasant walk if she didn't fear so for her friends. They obviously had no idea of the dangers outside the friendly Court they had spent the twilight in.

Looking down, Quill sees Roisin rolling on the ground in what looked to be a life or death struggle with her assailant.

"Roisin!" Quill shouted. "I'll save you!"

Quill threw herself off the horse in the middle of the meelee and started hitting.

"Hold on Quill," Roisin tried to stop her. "What are you doing? Stop hitting us," she commanded.

"What?" Quill stopped. "What do you mean what am I doing? I'm saving you, you big idiot!"

"I don't need saving, Quill," Roisin said.

"But you were fighting," Quill persisted.

Roisin shook her head sadly.

Meanwhile, her assailant had stood up and spat out, "Next time we have a rendevous, don't invite your friends," he glared at Quill.

Pixie came whistling over the hill top just then to join her friends. Her apperance startled then frightened the man who was holding a midnight rendevous with Roisin.

He quickly tucked his shirt into his trousers and grabbed the reins of his horse.

"I'm finding another story. This one has too many weird characters."

"Faint heart never won anyone" Roisin remarked, ignoring Quill's pained expression as she watched her diverting companion mount. "So you're leaving just like that?"

The black-robed man settled into his saddle and took up the reins. "You remember our bargain" he said as he rode away.

"That's not fair!" Roisin shouted after the retreating figure. "How was I to know she'd see you?" She turned to Quill. "Oh well, you win some, you lose some. But couldn't you have showed up just a bit later?"

Quill looked disgusted. "I'd hope it would have taken a bit longer than that--if you were planning on doing it properly!"

Roisin picked her hat up from the dirt and slapped the dust out of it. "With time running the way it does here, who knows how long that would have been?"

The Dead Pixie came forward and tugged on Roisin's sleeve. When she had her attention, she pointed back down the road.

Roisin looked at her incredulously."But Pixie, we've only just gotten here!"

The Dead Pixie shook her head and tugged harder. Her jaw gaped as she opened it, and a whisper of icy breath came out, but no true sound. "Nooooo" travelled faintly to their ears.

Roisin laughed, and tried to shake off the skeletal hand, but it tangled, clawlike, in the fabric of her shirt and the Dead Pixie shook her head so hard the pair thought it would fall off. She tried to pull Roisin back toward the road. Why didn't they understand? Didn't they know where they were?

She put out her bony hand and grabbed Roisin by the chin, pulling her to face her empty sockets.

The slender bones were cold and dug into Roisin's flesh. She had no choice but to face the frightening gaze. The bony rat was all but dancing on the Dead Pixie's shoulder, reacting to her mistress' distress. What Roisin saw in the empty eyes sent a chill through her. Suddenly the eternal twilight seemed menacing and she realized just how far from home she really was.

"Hey, you two, come on. Snap out of it. We're miles from anywhere let alone centuries from our own civilization. We need to stick together."

Quill took hold of Pixie's slender bony arm and pulled her towards the road. It lay like a ribbon of light across the field wending its way to the valley below. "Come on you guys, let's see if we can find our way back."

"Baaaaaaack," howled Pixie. and pointed with her fleshless fingers to the place where they had been.

Quill looked to the hilltop and then glanced at Roisin. Roisin shivered in fear.

"Something's not right. It's a feeling I get from Pixie, Quill," Roisin said quietly.

"A feeling?" Quill looked sidewise at Roisin. "I'd say it was more like a huge blinking danger sign. What are we doing out here anyway?"

"We followed someone we shouldn't, I'd say" Roisin answered.

"Or we're about to", Quill retorted.

The pair set off down the hill after the Dead Pixie. Even though the sky was clear, if that same ever present grey, it seemed to hem them in as if a heavy fog covered all. The hills were indistinct shapes until you focused your will to look directly at them. Sounds were distorted too, as they found when they didn't hear a stream until they blundered into it. Roisin was in the lead, so she ended up wet to the knees. The Dead Pixie had floated across it and waited impatiently on the other side. She beckoned fearsomely, the white bones of her arm flashing intermittently through her tattered leine. Several times one or the other of the two tried to go off on their own, seeming to forget the danger. If it hadn't been for the Dead Pixie, Roisin doubted they would have made it back at all.

After what seemed an interminable time, the sound of voices reached them, wavering indistinctly as if heard through water. They were unintelligible at first, and Quill looked wild eyed, fighting the urge to hide. Roisin felt it too, but knew in her bones that what was fearsome was safe in this strange land. It was the things that seemed friendly that they should fear. As they travelled on up the road, the voices gradually became clearer, and lights flashed briefly through the grey.

"There they are!" came a clear shout at last. A looming figure resolved into one of the two Maines, relief plain on his face. He ran to them, dropping his torch and taking Quill by the shoulders. "Lady, are you well?" he asked anxiously. "Glad am I to see thee!"

Quill smiled warmly and relaxed into the big warrior's embrace. After a moment, he stepped back and took her gently by the hands and pulled her aside.

The Dead Pixie glided into the hall as silently as she had left it, Roisin following after. All was as it was before, the torches burned brightly in their cressets, the tables groaned under their weight of food, and the musicians played brightly from their dais. The dead Pixie reached for a glass of mead, but caught sight of her bony arm and stopped. She glided away from the table into the clear space at the center of the hall and began to dance.

Dust puffed off her ragged leine as she swayed and jerked to the cheerful dance tune. The sight was weird, almost gruesome, almost joyful, and Roisin was unable to look away. Her white bones flashed through her rags and her jaw was open in what was pure happiness, the streetsinger supposed. Her ribcage gaped a moment as her body moved in what would have been a sinuous, snakelike movement, had she been clothed in flesh. The rat-skeleton was visiible for an instant, then was draped in black rags again.

As the Dead Pixie danced, the tune the musicians played shifted subtly to a minor key, and then changed altogether to something Roisin recognized as Moll Peatley. A Bone-a-phone joined the other instruments, the sound of the tune coming from it like a struck skeleton. Roisin couldn't help it, her feet automatically took her to the dais and that beautiful bodhran. She joined them, and gave herself up the the music.

She started and lost the beat as a hand touched her shoulder. She turned to see Accasbel standing behind her. "Have you enjoyed the adventure", he asked softly.

Roisin smiled, her eyes shining. "I could stay here forever", she declared happily.

"You can't really, you know", Acc said. "Not unless you'd give up your other life forever". He looked searchingly at Roisin.

The singer paused, weighing the choice. Never to see any of her friends again? Never to see the Tir again? "Oisin's choice, Acc", she asked.

The innkeeper smiled. "In a way, I suppose it is--only he never really got to make it, and so had to try to return. If you choose to stay, there will be no Fairy Lord to arrange your return, for you will have chosen truly".

Roisin nodded, understanding, and stood. "Can I visit again"?

Accasbel sighed. "Who knows"? He smiled, raising a finger. "But stay the hell out of my back room"!

Sounds like an end :)

Thank you.

It was--you're quite welcome. Thank you for providing such a wonderful place to play in.

*and a blessing on those who read the Tale through to the end*

Roisin, your talent is greatly appreciated especially mingled with the writing of Quill. You truly bless the lives of those who read your words. *S*

*sneaks to the back room for supplies* .......... hmmmmm reserve champagne *smile*