I love trying to write A Fairy Tale. Me head goes bonkers and I spout!

From Streets of Birdsong.

 “The foal grew into a stallion and injured the son of the Overman Collins and cast him into Dreamlife. Rathmor now want to take the boy and give him new Fairylife with them.” Glaoim started again but was interrupted by Tig Hernach, the Chronicler, who explained.

“We have taken human children before and left malicious fairies in their place.”

Glaoim waited. With patience slowly, hoping his voice was steady, he said. “This time Rathmor – want an exchange. They want to take the boy and leave a fairy – in his place. A full fairy.”

“What!” Tig Hernach was on his feet again: screaming. “A FULL Fairy! One who would breed with them and in so doing would become MORTAL! NEVER! No mix. NEVER! It would mean the end of us.”

The assembly took up the cry “NEVER. NEVER. NEVER. NEVER.” They stopped suddenly, when the air in the centre of the hall began to wave and pulse, a pillar of intense white shimmering light shot up from the floor and spread slowly across the roof timbers. From within the pillar, the Banshee threw her keening into the gathering to announce her arrival. The figure of a tall dark cloaked woman stepped out of the light and into the room.

“Aoibhinn. Banshee to the Dal Gais.” Glaoim announced with reverence and a small bow. “You are welcome.”

Younger fairies began to tremble and older fairies bowed their heads – even the regional Kings and Queens acknowledged her presence.

The atmosphere of fear and wonder that now filled the hall: roused Finvarra from a dream, of young maidens and crocks of hidden gold. He waited, while his senses resumed, then slowly rose, fixing Aoibhinn with a kingly glare.

“Witch” he began, his voice firm and strong. “You were not called to be here. Depart!”

“Whist you old fool. Sit back down and dream of the days when your loins were fruitful. I am here to help. I am here to warn of the real danger in this deed against my Dal Gais Clan. The mating of the Pooka was no accident it was arranged by the Redhats, the Feardearg, so that in the time yet-to-be the Rathmor Fairies will be no more. Overman Collins has no other son. The afflicted one will not father a clan and the one who will be Imbol – will not exist. The knowledge from the time of Danu will be lost. Overclanns will allow their memory of the fairies and the spirits of the land and the Banshees to die. We must fight evil and the Feardearg. We must restore the lineage. The fairy who goes must be full and as such will be mortal.”

Finvarra rose slowly and spoke. “Let it be so. Let Rathmor choose one of their own. Aoibhinn is right. The time must be now.”

Before Bill left Amalgad told him that he must keep quiet about the land under the fairy rath.

“When you get home the fairy will be in place of your son and your son will be here with us. You and a small number of humans will see the boy as a fairy, others will see him as the boy. When men look at fairies they see what they expect to see.”

“Sometimes,” Bairead interrupted, “they even see themselves.”

“Yes.” Amalgad added sadly, this time, not annoyed by the comment. “Indeed: sometimes, the real evil ones only see themselves.”