And when the sun melted the ice-bound surface of the waters, and the swans swam once more in the sea of Moyle, the salt water entered their wounds, and they well-nigh died of pain. But in time the down on their breasts and the feathers on their wings grew, and they were healed of their wounds.
The years dragged on, and by day Finola and her brothers would fly toward the shores of the Green Island of Erin, or to the rocky blue headlands of Alba, or they would swim far out into a dim gray wilderness of waters. But ever as night fell it was their doom to return to the sea of Moyle.
One day, as they looked toward the Green Isle, they saw coming to the coast a troop of horsemen mounted on snow-white steeds, and their armor glittered in the sun.
A cry of great joy went up from the children of Lir, for they had seen no human form since they spread their wings above Lake Darvra, and flew to the stormy sea of Moyle.
“Speak,” said Finola to her brothers, “speak, and say if these be not our own Dedannan folk.” And Aed and Fiacra and Conn strained their eyes, and Aed answered, “It seemeth, dear sister, to me, that it is indeed our own people.”
As the horsemen drew nearer and saw the four swans, each man shouted in the Gaelic tongue, “Behold the children of Lir!”
And when Finola and her brothers heard once more the sweet Gaelic speech, and saw the faces of their own people, their happiness was greater than can be told. For long they were silent, but at length Finola spake.
Of their life on the sea of Moyle she told, of the dreary rains and blustering winds, of the giant waves and the roaring thunder, of the black frost, and of their own poor battered and wounded bodies. Of their loneliness of soul, of that she could not speak. “But tell us,” she went on, “tell us of our father, Lir. Lives he still, and Bove Derg, and our dear Dedannan friends?”
Scarce could the Dedannans speak for the sorrow they had for Finola and her brothers, but they told how Lir and Bove Derg were alive and well, and were even now celebrating the Feast of Age at the house of Lir. “But for their longing for you, your father and friends would be happy indeed.”
Glad then and of great comfort were the hearts of Finola and her brothers. But they could not hear more, for they must hasten to fly from the pleasant shores of Erin to the sea-stream of Moyle, which was their doom. And as they flew, Finola sang, and faint floated her voice over the kneeling host.