On the morning of the morrow Suibhne came on to Magh Femhin, thence he fared to the limpid, green-streamed Shannon, thence to lofty, beautiful Aughty, thence to the smooth-green, bright land of Maenmagh, thence to the noble and delightful river Suck, thence to the shores of spreading Lough Ree. That night he made his resting-place in the fork of Bile Tiobradain in Crich Gaille in the east of Connaught. That was one of his beloved places in Ireland. Great sorrow and misery came upon him, whereupon he said: ‘Great in sooth is the trouble and anxiety I have suffered hitherto; cold was my dwelling-place last night on the summit of Benn Boirche, no less cold is my dwelling-place to-night in the fork of Bile Tiobradain.’