“It is spoken like a hero,” he admitted after a moment, “and if you cannot be matched on those terms it will not be from a dearth of applicants.”
“In running alone,” Fionn continued thoughtfully, “we have a notable champion, Caelte mac Rona’n.”
“This son of Rona’n will not long be notable,” the stranger asserted.
“He can outstrip the red deer,” said Cona’n.
“He can outrun the wind,” cried Fionn.
“He will not be asked to outrun the red deer or the wind,” the stranger sneered. “He will be asked to outrun me,” he thundered. “Produce this runner, and we shall discover if he keeps as great heart in his feet as he has made you think.”
“He is not with us,” Cona’n lamented.
“These notable warriors are never with us when the call is made,” said the grim stranger.
“By my hand,” cried Fionn, “he shall be here in no great time, for I will fetch him myself.”
“Be it so,” said Cael. “And during my absence,” Fionn continued, “I leave this as a compact, that you make friends with the Fianna here present, and that you observe all the conditions and ceremonies of friendship.”