'Nay,' said Covan smiling, 'it had been easier for you to have driven them out than to come here to tell me.' And he went on listening to the music.
Very soon the same youth returned and cried with panting breath:
'Out upon you, Covan son of Gorla, that you stand there agape.For our dogs are chasing your cows, and you must drive them off!'
'Nay, then,' answered Covan as before, 'it had been easier for you to call off your dogs than to come here to tell me.' And he stayed where he was till the music ceased.
Then he turned to look for the cows, and found them all lying in the place where he had left them; but when they saw Covan they rose up and walked homewards, taking a different path to that they had trod in the morning.This time they passed over a plain so bare that a pin could not have lain there unnoticed, yet Covan beheld with surprise a foal and its mother feeding there, both as fat as if they had pastured on the richest grass.Further on they crossed another plain, where the grass was thick and green, but on it were feeding a foal and its mother, so lean that you could have counted their ribs.And further again the path led them by the shores of a lake whereon were floating two boats; one full of gay and happy youths, journeying to the land of the Sun, and another with grim shapes clothed in black, travelling to the land of Night.
'What can these things mean?' said Covan to himself, as he followed his cows.
Darkness now fell, the wind howled, and torrents of rain poured upon them.Covan knew not how far they might yet have to go, or indeed if they were on the right road.He could not even see his cows, and his heart sank lest, after all, he should have failed to bring them safely back.What was he to do?
He waited thus, for he could go neither forwards nor backwards, till he felt a great friendly paw laid on his shoulder.
'My cave is just here,' said the Dog of Maol- mor, of whom Covan son of Gorla had heard much.'Spend the night here, and you shall be fed on the flesh of lamb, and shall lay aside three-thirds of thy weariness.'
And Covan entered, and supped, and slept, and in the morning rose up a new man.
'Farewell, Covan,' said the Dog of Maol-mor.'May success go with you, for you took what I had to give and did not mock me.So, when danger is your companion, wish for me, and I will not fail you.'
At these words the Dog of Maol-mor disappeared into the forest, and Covan went to seek his cows, which were standing in the hollow where the darkness had come upon them.
At the sight of Covan the Brown-haired they walked onwards, Covan following ever behind them, and looking neither to the right nor to the left.All that day they walked, and when night fell they were in a barren plain, with only rocks for shelter.
'We must rest here as best we can,' spoke Covan to the cows.And they bowed their heads and lay down in the place where they stood.Then came the black raven of Corri- nan-creag, whose eyes never closed, and whose wings never tired; and he fluttered before the face of Covan and told him that he knew of a cranny in the rock where there was food in plenty, and soft moss for a bed.
'Go with me thither,' he said to Covan, 'and you shall lay aside three-thirds of your weariness, and depart in the morning refreshed,'
and Covan listened thankfully to his words, and at dawn he rose up to seek his cows.
'Farewell!' cried the black raven.'You trusted me, and took all I had to offer in return for the food you once gave me.So if in time to come you need a friend, wish for me, and I will not fail you.'
As before, the cows were standing in the spot where he had left them, ready to set out.All that day they walked, on and on, and on, Covan son of Gorla walking behind them, till night fell while they were on the banks of a river.
'We can go no further,' spake Covan to the cows.And they began to eat the grass by the side of the stream, while Covan listened to them and longed for some supper also, for they had travelled far, and his limbs were weak under him.Then there was a swish of water at his feet, and out peeped the head of the famous otter Doran-donn of the stream.
'Trust to me and I will find you warmth and shelter,' said Doran-donn;'and for food fish in plenty.' And Covan went with him thankfully, and ate and rested, and laid aside three-thirds of his weariness.At sunrise he left his bed of dried sea-weed, which had floated up with the tide, and with a grateful heart bade farewell to Doran-donn.
'Because you trusted me and took what I had to offer, you have made me your friend, Covan,' said Doran-donn.'And if you should be in danger, and need help from one who can swim a river or dive beneath a wave, call to me and I will come to you.' Then he plunged into the stream, and was seen no more.
