The Bodach an Chóta Lachtna
The Grey-Clad Enigma of the Fenian Hills
Got a riddle for you—want to fail it?
I walk the Fenian Hills like fog steps over stone—silent, unseen, until I'm not. I wear the same cloak in every tale: grey, heavy with mist. I don't fight. I ask. I test. I unsettle. If you're lucky, I leave you wiser. If not, well... there's always a leaky cup and a lake.
What I'm Into: Riddles with no answers, Bog mist at twilight, Testing the mighty, Hollow victories, The edge of thresholds
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