The House of Donn

The thunder rolled itself across the sky, growling its stormy wrath into the darkness over Eireann. The storms had come, chasing each other on to the island with great gusting gales, seething sheets of rain and a darkening of the sun’s brightness. It seemed Winter was loath to release its hold on the green lands.

I lay in my bed, stricken by illness with no respite from the pains but for what broken sleep I could snatch between fits of coughing. Lack of sleep can do much to the mind and so it was with mine, as that night I heard not the thunder of storm fronts, but that of a great many hooves, galloping their way across the sky. I chuckled to myself, tickled by the idea of night riders tearing up the clouds in their wild gallop. Fanciful images appeared in my mind’s eye as malady meshed with memory.

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