The Raid

It had been one of those warm, sweaty, labour intensive days. The Autumn colours had begun to cover the land but, as yet, the leaf fall was minimal. The evenings were still long. Clinging to the warmth from the sun, which was slow to set. The Dagda sat by the river, scraping and scouring his great cauldron. Everything from the fire blackened outside, to the food encrusted inside, felt the rub and scrub of his weary hands. As his body worked, his mind began to catalogue the days gathering. 

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