When he's around, she stops. She speaks no words, she brings no nightmares. So I will stay with him as long as possible. I would even if he didn't fix it. Even if her commands of "wait" still rang through my ears, he would make me feel safe. I will not describe him, I will not name him. He is my Cuchulainn, my hero. My Hound. He consoles me and understands. He is all I've ever wanted. And each day we get closer to home.

So that's where I have been and that's where I'm returning. Back to the bed where he'll tell me of places he's been and things he's done until I fall asleep.

I had a dream last year:
whoever, at the time appointed,
opposes the Hound on the slope,
let him beware.
The Hound of Emain Macha,
in all his different shapes,
The Hound of plunder and battle
--- I hear him, and he hears.