‘Harder, however, it is for me,’ says Lomna Drúth: ‘woe is me before every one! woe is me after every one! 'Tis my head that will be first tossed about there to-night after an hour among the chariot-shafts, where devilish foes will meet. It will be flung into the Hostel thrice, and thrice will it be flung forth. Woe to him that comes! woe to him with whom one goes! woe to him to whom one goes! Wretches are they that go! wretches are they to whom they go!’
‘There is nothing that will come to me,’ says Ingcél, ‘in place of my mother and my father and my seven brothers, and the king of my district, whom ye destroyed with me. There is nothing that I shall not endure henceforward.’
‘Though a
[...]
should go through them,’ say Gér and Gabur and Fer rogain, ‘the Destruction will be wrought by thee tonight.’
‘Woe to him who shall put them under the hands of foes!’ says Lomna. ‘And whom sawest thou afterwards?’