My efforts to steady the boat are useless. If we do not capsize, it is only by Manannan’s will. Verica and I are caught in the shattering of sea and sky, between the front lines of two opposing armies who cast spears of rain and spray upon each other. I swing myself around the Airgeadragan’s mast, holding tightly to Verica, who hugs the other side. Flogged by relentless waves and tossed about on an angry sea, our vessel is hurled into a maelstrom and smashed into splinters. There is no longer earth or sky, only the violent deep. But Verica and the mast are still locked in my grasp, a grasp to defy the Son of Lir. We submerge and emerge repeatedly, as the broken mast is hurled about like a toy. Through the ordeal, Verica croons calmly to herself a song of the Sídhe, preparing her spirit for the Otherworld. But my heart is not prepared for such a journey…

(OOC: To be continued in Brigantia…)