A NIGHT OD THE NIGHTS
A small boy sat under an oak tree in a forest of oaks. Sunburnt of face and body he was for his deerskin tunic covered little of him. His blue eyes had a steady look in them like the eyes of a hawk and his thick mane of hair was a bright red-gold. He was pounding a deerskin with a smooth rounded stone to soften it: mayhap for sake of a tunic, or a pair of thonged shoes. He was alert as a forest creature — that child — for the snapping of a twig brought him to his feet, listening like a fawn. A tall woman with a deeply lined face and black hair that had many a strand of gray in it was coming through the trees:
" Fionn,” she said, " my Treasure, is the skin a strong one? ”
" It is, Bovemall,” said the boy, " I have pounded it as you taught me: and softened it as well with my fingers.”
" Good at skin-craft you are,” said the woman, " you will know more things than your father knew, when you come to be chieftain of Clann Bassna.”
" He had hounds to take the deer for him, and house- thralls to soften the skins,” said the boy. " He would know how to ride a proud horse. He had craft of a swords¬man. Mayhap I will come by that and have my wood¬craft to throw in with it.”
" Mayhap you will,” said the woman going to a little near-by clearing where the ashes of a fire were. She set to kindling a flame; and another woman — Liath her com¬rade — old like herself, came to help her.