Eachtach brought her older brothers with her when she ran, but left Ruchladh behind. He was safer in the arms of Grainne.

She left the land altogether. She could not hide again, she would not be hunted again. When first she went to neighboring islands, then to the nearby mainland, and then across the breadth of that land, she made sure to learn whatever she could. Wherever she wandered to she found the local warriors, the local poets, and she asked them to teach her whatever they could.

She found her sword, damascened metal tougher than any weapon she had known. She became the best hunter, not just in her land but in any land.

And then, with her brothers behind her, she returned home.

The sounds of the Fianna were always just ahead of her. A thousand men were shouting, a thousand poets were telling tales, a thousand hounds were barking. When she was young she had been told stories about them, brave and just heroes, her father had told her. He had said once that Fionn was undefeatable, that he was the best there could be. He had also said once that Fionn would never refuse to heal someone in need.

So Eachtach walked steadily towards the sounds she had spent her childhood running from.

The raven’s wings were beating loud and strong in her chest when she caught up with the group of fighting hunters.

And each time someone asked her if she was in need of hospitality, or if she was there to join, she responded with “No, I am here to challenge Fionn mac Cumhaill for the right to lead the Fianna.”

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On that warm summer morning, a messenger was sent for him right away.

Fionn’s eyes lit up in recognition as soon as he saw her. After all those years she still looked just like her father.

A crowd gathered around them. Members of the Fianna were curious about the new stranger who would lead them. Poets wanted to tell of whoever won the fight.

The years had not slowed Fionn mac Cumhail much. He was still brave, fast and strong. He drew first blood. Eachtach tried to strike but Fionn with his shield effortlessly parried her to the side and landed a hit on her.

For Eachtach’s next attempt she was more successful at not getting hit, but not any more so at getting to Fionn.

She could feel her heart beating in her chest, the raven’s wings growing stronger with each second.

The next time she swung at him her sword hit his shield with a loud crack, and it splintered in two. Fionn’s eyes widened in fear at that. Eachtach’s sword was good and it kept its edge even through such a feat.

Her next strike landed true, sending Fionn gasping down.

She looked down at the man who had killed her father, brave and bleeding at her feet. Her father had told her once how important it was that the best leader of the Fianna began his reign with an act of mercy.

She wanted to say “enough.” She wanted to call for a medic or a druid. She wanted to step back.

Before she could she felt a strange sharp pain in her back. She looked down and saw a knife in her side, a young man who could not yet have been taught about honorable single combat, ready to defend his leader standing behind her.

She fell to her knees. Fionn began to yell. He was yelling at the poor boy “You idiot! She had challenged me and I accepted, why would you…” Eachtach did not hear the rest. The pool of blood forming beside her looked so much like the day Diarmuid died.

Fionn fed her water from his hands. It did nothing. A druid was called. They told her they could do nothing.

Fionn sat next to her. He wept, more for the death of the Fianna than the death of Eachtach but he wept all the same.