"Swift are the wolves that have hunted thee, my son," saith his father.
"'Tis this that has wounded us, thou old hero, an evil conflict with warriors," Conall Cernach replied.
"Hast thou then news of Dá Derga's Hostel?" asked Amorgin. "Is thy lord alive?"
"He is not alive," says Conall.
"I swear to God what the great tribes of Ulaid swear, it is cowardly for the man who went thereout alive, having left his lord with his foes in death."
"My wounds are not white, thou old hero," says Conall.
He shews him his shield-arm, whereon were thrice fifty wounds: this is what was inflicted upon it. The shield that guarded it is what saved it. But the right arm had been played upon, as far as two thirds thereof, since the shield had not been guarding it. That arm was mangled and maimed and wounded and pierced, save that the sinews kept it to the body without separation.
"That arm fought tonight, my son," says Amorgein.
"True is that, thou old hero," says Conall Cernach. "Many there are unto whom it gave drinks of death tonight in front of the Hostel."
Now as to the reavers, every one of them that escaped from the Hostel went to the cairn which they had built on the night before last, and they brought thereout a stone for each man not mortally wounded. So this is what they lost by death at the Hostel, a man for every stone that is (now) in Carn Lecca.