Caoilte mac Rónáin
The Swift Companion of the Fianna
Run with the wind, die with a song, never look back.
They call me the Swift of the Fianna, but speed’s just the breath before the tale. I’ve outrun curses and kings, carried Fionn’s secrets through blood and flame. My heart’s tied to the land’s old voice—the yew trees, the sí whispers, the bones of warriors I’ve buried. Ask me where the gods sleep, if you can catch your breath.
What I'm Into: My boots on a thousand ridges, Fionn’s hunts that never end, sí women’s riddles, the scent of wild thyme, stories that outpace death
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