The Song of the Brown Bull: A Tale from The Táin Bó Cúailnge

The sky over Connacht was grey with anticipation, a storm brewing in the vastness above, matching the energy that buzzed in the gathering hall below. The air in the hall was thick with the scent of burning peat and the tension of unspoken desires. Queen Medb sat at the high table, her hand resting lightly on a goblet of wine, her sharp eyes scanning the assembly. Ailill, her husband, lounged beside her, his laughter rumbling like distant thunder as he talked with his warriors.