Fin and his Merry-Men were hunting atop a hill.
All day they were there yet caught no glimpse of game.
As evening drew in, Fin spoke, “let’s turn for home, boys, there is naught for us on this dismal hill,” he said, “’twill be late when we get there and a hunger and thirst will be on us.”
“A hunger and thirst on us, already,” said Conan, and spat into the ground.
So Fin and his Merry-Men turned and set off down the hill-side.
Before long a Black Fog fell and they lost their way.
“No good ever came from a fog of this sort,” said Fin resignedly, “we’re out for the night now, boys, and no mistake!”
As the Merry-Men set too, assessing their predicament, Dermot spied a white-washed house in the gloom.
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