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And then I'll go back with you to your own land." "Why would you do that?" asked the King of Ire-land's Son. "Because I wish to be your wife," Gilveen said. "But," said he, "if I live at all Fedelma is the one I'll marry." When he said that Gilveen drew her lips together and her chin became like a horn.
Then the King of the Land of Mist took Fedelma in his arms and strode along that nameless place, over the broken ground with its dead grass and its black rocks and its stumps and roots of trees and the three ravens that had escaped the sword of the King of Ire-land's Son followed where he went.
"The dowry that should go with me," said Fedelma, "is the Slight Red Steed." "What dowry do you want with her, young man?" said the Enchanter. "No other dowry but the Slight Red Steed." "Go round to the stable then and get it. And I hope no well-trained wizard like you will come this way again." "No well-trained wizard am I, but the King of Ire-land's Son.
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