The young warrior made no reply, but whirling his sling above his head sent the missile with terrific force at the two swan-like voyagers of the air.  It went far astray, and splashed harmlessly into the lake, throwing up a fountain of spray.  Cuchullain’s face grew dark.  Never before in war or the chase had he missed so easy a mark.  Angrily he caught a javelin from his belt and hurled it at the birds, which had swerved from their course and were now flying swiftly away.  It was a mighty cast, even for the strong arm of the mightiest warrior of Eri; and the javelin, glittering in the sun, was well on the downward curve of its long flight, its force spent, when its point touched the wing of the nearest bird.  A sphere of golden flame seemed to glitter about them as they turned downward and disappeared beneath the deep waters of the lake.

Cuchullain threw himself upon the ground, leaning his broad shoulders against the rock.

“Leave me,” he said in sullen tones to Ethne; “my senses are dull with sleep from long watching at the Samhain fire.  For the first time since I slew the hound of Culain my right arm has failed me.  My eyes are clouded, and strange music murmurs in my heart.”

His eyes closed, his heavy breathing was broken by sighs, and anguish distorted his features.  Ethne watched him awhile, and then stole quietly back to where the warriors were and said to them: 

“Cuchullain lies slumbering by yonder rock, and he moans in his sleep as if the people of the Sidhe were reproaching his soul for some misdeed.  I fear those birds that had the power behind them.  Should we not waken him?”

But while they held council, and some were about to go and awaken him.  Fergus mac Roy, foster-father of Cuchullain, arose, and all drew back in awe, for they saw the light of the Sun-God shining from his eyes, and his voice had the Druid ring as he said in stern tones of command: 

“Touch him not, for he sees a vision; the people of the Sidhe are with him; and from the far distant past, even from the days of the sunken lands of the West, I see the hand of Fate reach out and grasp the warrior of Eri, to place him on a throne where he shall rule the souls of men.”

To Cuchullain it did not seem that he slept; for though his eyelids fell, his sight still rested on the calm surface of the lake, the shining sand on the shore, and the great brown rock against which he reclined.  But whence came the two maidens who were walking toward him along the glistening sand?  He gazed at them in speechless wonder; surely only in dreamland could so fair a vision be seen.  In dreamland, yes; for a dim memory awoke in his breast that he had seen them before in the world of slumber.  One wore a mantle of soft green, and her flaxen hair, strangely white but with a glint of gold, fell about her shoulders so thickly it seemed like a silken hood out of which looked a white face with gleaming violet