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‘We harvested the shores of Porfa and disdained the stamping ground. As you can see -' he gestured around himself, indicating the tents and people arrayed in much the same way as Chuliann's camp - 'we live much as humans do and until recently we had formed close bonds of friendship with the men of the Clyr. But Chulainn and his like are a fickle lot.'

The camp was built around a small farmhouse which seemed to have been occupied by the lord of the herd, judging by the way everything else centred around it. The house was L-shaped with a small yard in its angle. In the yard stood a large Firbolg. His body was that of a handsome stallion, well built and firmly muscled; the human half, on the other hand, was running to fat. But the face, heavily bearded, had a nobility to it that suggested to the Doctor that this was the herd's lord. He stood splay-legged with snow piled high around his feet. He turned his head at the sound of the approaching party and lifted an arm in welcome.

'Ferllu!'

'My lord, these humans seek an audience with you.'

'I'm not exactly decorously prepared to grant their request, but why stand on ceremony when I'm standing on ice? Present them to me and let them give an account of themselves.'

The Doctor dismounted and helped Bathsheba down from Ferllu's back.

'The man is called the Doctor and the girl is Bathsheba,' Ferllu told his lord. The Doctor bowed deeply at this introduction.

'My lord,' he began, 'we travel to see the one called Goibhnie. I was sent by the Tuatha de Danaan and acquired the company of Bathsheba on the way. I am not one of the men of Tír na n-Óg. but from the place called Earth.'

'What are your reasons for trespassing on the land of Daffyr?’ Ferllu asked him.

'Let him speak for himself, Ferllu.'

'We are both strangers in this land and did not realize we were trespassing.'

‘Hardly a good enough reason,' the herd lord suggested.

‘It is the only defence I can offer,' said the Doctor.

'You're from Earth,' another voice broke in. The Doctor and Bathsheba looked to its source. A young man, wearing clothes that could not have originated in Tír na n-Óg and sporting a mess of brown hair, stood in the doorway of the farmhouse. 'My God, it's a relief to see someone normal at last. I'm Stuart Taylor.' He strode forward, extending his hand ahead of him.

'I'm the Doctor and this is my friend, Bathsheba,’ the Doctor answered, accepting the proffered hand of friendship. 'I presume the tyre tracks that we've been following were made by you.

'That's right. Erm, Daffyr?'

'Yes, Stuart. I suppose you want me to allow these two stay?'

'Would you? They are my only contact with home after all.’

'All right. Ferllu, you may go.'

'Yes, my lord. Goodbye, Bathsheba.' He bent and kissed her on her forehead. 'Goodbye, Doctor. ' He turned and trotted off into the camp.

'Take them inside: then, Stuart. I'll join you shortly.'

The man led them into the farmhouse kitchen where a warm fire burned brightly. 'We're running low on fuel but we should be moving on soon, so I'm using up what's left. Sit down I'll get you something to drink. No tea, sorry.'

Bathsheba sat down at the long trestle table with some bemusement. The Doctor wandered around the room examining its contents closely. He gratefully accepted the warming drink that the man provided and then sat down as they exchanged the stories of how they had come to this place.

Stuart explained to the Doctor and Bathsheba that he was vet, though he had to explain to Bathsheba what a vet was. He began by telling them of the day he had found the unicorn's horn.

After he had finished his rounds for the day, he had returned home. Lazily he had thrown something into the microwave and then sat in front of the television for the evening. Swept on a wave of droning voices and bright colours, he had drifted into sleep, but had been woken by the insistent white noise of the television asking to be turned off. He had stumbled up to bed, slipped in between the sheets and had a strangely vivid dream. At least, he had supposed it to be a dream at first.

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