I was talking aloud to myself. A habit of the old: they choose the wisest person present to speak to

He was as noble and fair in face as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer.

We meet again, at the turn of the tide. A great storm is coming, but the tide has turned.

'Celtic' is a magic bag, into which anything may be put, and out of which almost anything may come. Anything is possible in the fabulous Celtic twilight, which is not so much a twilight of the gods as of the reason.

Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising I came singing into the sun, sword unsheathing. To hope's end I rode and to heart's breaking: Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!

Fear nothing! Have peace until the morning! Heed no nightly noises!

I dislike allegory wherever I smell it.