“Be up now,” said she, “and have the soles of your feet under you.”
He went first to the pole and struck a blow that took three turns out of the stomach of Mucan Mor and three more out of his brain, before he could stand on the soles of his feet, so great was the dread that came on him.
They fought the third day, and it wasn’t very late when Cud was getting the upper hand. Mucan Mor raised his two arms toward the sky, striving to escape in a fog from his enemy. Cud struck him then with the apple, and made a green stone of him. Hardly had he Mucan Mor killed when he saw an old hag racing up; she took one hill at a step and two at a leap.
“Your face and your health to you,” said the hag, when she stood before Cud. “I am looking at you for three days, fighting without food or drink. I hope that you’ll come with me now.”
“It’s long that you were thinking of asking me,” said he.
“I hope you’ll not refuse me,” said the hag.
“I will not,” replied Cud.
“Give me your hand,” said the hag, “and I’ll help you to walk.”
He took the hag’s hand. There wasn’t a jump that she gave while she had a grip of his hand but he thought she was dragging the arm from him.