The prologue continues...

Mícheál understood and stepped up to beside him, his eyes sharp on The Dagda as he said, "We have agreed to honor our side of this pact, and have presented our choice..."

"I...I cannot allow it,” Morrigan snapped, backing away. “I will not!"

Mícheál looked at her. "You would break your oath? Violate the very agreement you demanded?"

She hissed, drew herself up and cast him a glare of purest contempt before snarling, "You dare question my honor?"

He was unmoved. "We know what we ask you to do, Caoimhín and I." He turned to The Dagda. "You know, as well. Are the Tuatha De Danann truly this weak? Is the clan Ui Briúin superior to you all? You are willing to do as you choose, when it suits you." And his voice dripped with contempt. 

The Dagda drew near to Mícheál, growling, his anger close to exploding. "Watch your tone, boy." 

Mícheál did not even grow tense. "Have I earned none of your respect?" His eyes were unyielding. 

The Dagda hesitated then spun away from him with a howl.

Morrigan glared at the man, disdainful.

Caoimhín finally raised his gaze to her. "So what is it to be? Do you keep to your oath, or do we continue as we have? We will not back down nor stop until we have finished it." 

She turned to him, now cold and in control. “No matter the cost?” 

He drew in a deep breath. “No matter the cost.” 

"Then...step forward." 

"I will," he responded. 

He turned to Mícheál, removing his sword. "Here. You must lead our clan, now. I know you will do better than would I." 

"I cannot agree with that." 

"And you will...you will care for everyone and..." 

Mícheál nodded, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. "To my dying breath." He accepted the gleaming blade and whispered, "Give Caera a kiss for me."

Caoimhín looked to the other men. "I am proud to have been at your side, through these times, and I know you will do well by my brother. But for now, you must keep your swords in their sheaths, as per our oath." Then he cast a sharp glance at Morrigan. "So long as it is honored."

"It will be," she spit. 

With a pat on Mícheál's back, he strode up to Morrigan to look her straight in the eye. "Let's be done with it, witch."

Anger filled her face. "I give you runes to hold, one in each hand. To lead you to the next world." She offered them to him. Each had a runic symbol, one for strength, one for peace. She motioned to the post. "There are two thongs, again, one for each hand. Slip them around your wrists." 

He saw the thongs were positioned through holes in each post, with loops. He stepped to between the two posts and thrust his hands up into each one, still holding the stones. Then Morrigan twisted the outer loops, binding his wrists tight against the posts before jamming a peg into the hole to hold them in place. Now Caoimhín's arms were stretched wide. He could not easily move. 

The Dagda kept himself turned away, his eyes locked on the far cliffs. His cloak barely moved by the gentle breeze. His stance tight and still angry. 

Caoimhín sneered at him, saying, "Have you no stomach to face this? Are you nothing but your looks?"

The man turned to glare at him. Hurt colored his eyes but he stood strong and straight and focused on Caoimhín. 

The younger man looked across the water at the black towering Cliffs. A mist had begun to build at their base. He grew tense, a hint of fear now in his eyes. His breath was sharp and shallow. Above him, the white birds screamed in fear and fury.

With a flick of one wrist, Morrigan silenced them, saying, "Bheith imithe."

In moments, they were gone.

The sudden silence screamed around them all.