FROM THE HORSE

As all who have known them. and many who have not, will tell you, the voices of the Sidhe are music incomparable so it is no matter to wonder when you hear that Oisin, Finn’s son, listened for a hundred years and thought that an evening only had passed. However, not everything you’re told is true, and Oisin, mayhap, was aware of each day that passed, even without the sun’s passing each day to advise him of the fact.

If you’ve heard of Oisin (who is it that is so poor in knowing that he has not?) you know his father was Finn, son of Coll, and that Finn’s strength waxed from dawn till noon, and then declined until by night he was barely a match for three strong men, an eager boy and a small and quarrelsome dog. He had come down mightily since he was a god, though he did not regret the change (he was never one for regret overmuch) and rejoiced more to lead the Fianna, his sworn men, through the shadowed forest than ever he had to roll across the sky.

Such a father is a burden and a glory, and Oisin loved him with all his heart and wished with all his soul to live where none had heard of Finn. There, perhaps, he couldn’t hear the thoughts of men when they looked at him, thinking “A quick hand, a ready wit, yet who so ready as Finn? The face is much like, but something lacks. The chin a bit less perhaps? The eyes not so eager? Something.”