They say those who are deemed worthy are swept away to Tír ná nÓg to face down its king and, one day, overthrow his reign. But I was not worthy of such an endeavor nor was I swept away to save a realm so fair. No, I was but a stowaway that happened upon unfortunate circumstances.

     The day began colder than most. Everything, from the trees to the bushes to the grass, was frost bitten. The usually green and lush scapes of rural Ireland were blanketed in a thin layer of ice, allowing a bitter coldness to settle along the ground and create a fine mist that would perforate the chest and, consequently, the lungs of any who sought to travel by foot through it. As such, I rode my father's horse, drawing a cart full of vegetables and fruits and meats alike, all carefully grown and butchered at our farm. Although the harshness of the air and the ground was no welcome sight for myself, it did ensure that my family's produce kept and didn't spoil, and for that I am grateful.

     It took me a day and a half to reach the nearest town with a market, which is nothing short of miraculous speaking as I would normally be gone for nigh a week to get there on foot. The town was small but on this day it was a bustling center for the traders and merchants selling and the craftsmen looking for work.

     It had been a quick day of selling. I left the town and continued back towards the way I came from. That's when I heard it. A deafening wail that echoed through the air and my mind. It grew louder and louder and louder until it abruptly ceased. Sounding like it had come from my left, I turned to face what had made the unholy noise of wretchedness, but I saw nothing and the wailing did not resume, I only heard the faint sound of birds flying away. A bad omen; a banshee's cry. I was flung into a panic, detaching the cart and riding back as fast as I could get the horse to move, for I knew what a banshee's cry meant; my father will die soon for when one hears the wail of a banshee, death for a loved one is nigh.

     As I returned, I threw the door open, hoping the omen to be false, just this once. But when I saw my father lain across the floor, lifeless and cold, bíonn dúil le béal farraige ach cha bhíonn dúil le béal uaighe filled my mind. I did not know by what cause his death had occurred, but it was quick and it was sudden, for I had been gone only 3 days time.

     A few years passed since I had found my father dead. I lost the farm and was evicted by a local lord who had settled the area. Seeing as I had nowhere to go and had known this land all my life, I joined the new town's militia. I worked hard, securing fences, checking merchant carts and apprehending criminals. That, however, changed when I heard a report about a large mass of armed men just outside the town's walls. I was ordered to the township's front along with the other militiamen. The men were from another nearby town, one I would not have said we were on good terms with. The two differing towns have had land disputes ever since the local lord had settled my family's farm lands. 

     The opposing lord had no interest in anything diplomatic  the other had to say, thus fighting began forthwith. The field on which we had fought was once a grazing pasture for cattle. It saddened me that it was blood instead of fertilizer that would be spilled upon its grasses. Nonetheless, it was a necessary evil that meant the difference between life and death. We fought for a long while, many meeting their ends. My breath grew heavy upon my chest, feeling as though I were drowning in the air surrounding me.

     The violence and death seemed to slow, my perception of the world along with it. Then she appeared to me, an eternally beautiful maiden of the purest of skin and longest flowing hair I had ever laid my eyes upon. Her face I could not see, or perhaps I just could not perceive it. Regardless, she was immense in her beauty, surpassing anything I had seen prior to that mere moment in time. But as suddenly as she had appeared to me, she seemed to leave me.

     Not knowing why, nor caring at all, I chased after her, longing to speak to her, to meet her. I quickened my pace, hoping to catch up. I followed her through the crowds, out of the fields and into the surrounding forests, managing to leave the fighting behind entirely. I continued to watch and follow her, ducking behind trees and rocks as I did, for I had not built myself for our meeting yet. She continued deeper into the wood, pausing only a moment at the top of a small hill that stood alone.

     I soon followed up the same hill, but, upon climbing to its peak, I was suddenly at level grounds, I was not on a hill anymore, despite having climbed one moments earlier. I glanced around and noticed there was not a tree in sight, minus the occasional out of place fallen log; for the forests and wood were not here either. Across from me was a calm shore, and across the waters from it was a distant island, one with forests and flowering meadows abundant upon its lands.

     I realized what had happened to me then: I was not lost, but trapped, trapped in Tír n'a nÓg with no way to leave.