Naoise sat up, puzzled, looking around him in the gloomy blackness, he could not think what had wakened him. Beside him Bran, his dog was crouched down in a wary stance, his hackles risen the length of his back. Naoise listened to the silence all around him; he did not hear anything, no bleat of a forlorn sheep, or screech of a crow, nothing at all, only a low grow from Bran.

He stretched for his tunic, which he quickly pulled over his head as he climbed out of bed, he wrapped his cloak around him against the chill of the early dawn and pulled back the leather drape that served for the door of his little shelter. Bran with a furious snarl, bounded past him, and ran barking down the hill, to where the sheep were corralled in a sheltered bank of whin bushes. Naoise stood in the doorway staring at grey cloud laden dreary sky, his eyes swept the horizon, west over the distant grey mountains, to the glimmer of dawn above the sea in the east, but nothing moved in the gloom, except for the darting of the dog as he franticly sniffed the air, scenting something un seen to Naoise. The flock of sheep were huddled together, just as he had last seen them before he had slept; nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the high valley where he tended his flock. In the sky, high above a bird of prey patrolled the skies, it hovered and swooped watching closely, something in the long grass that only its eagle eyes could glimpse in the dim morning light, all around an eerie silence filled the air.

Naoise climbed the hill behind his hut and bent over the little spring that ran fresh and cold from a cleft in the rock, its chill made his teeth ache and the shock as he splashed it on his face made his skin tingle. Filling his crock with water, he walked back to his little hut, whistling for Bran, who came quickly to his heel; inside he rooted around his small store of food, finding some apples and barley bread, which he spread with dripping honey. Sitting with his back to the stone hill, he broke his fast, and watched enthralled as the sun rose, a great golden orb out of the Irish Sea that lay in the east below him; it highlighted the peaked hills of the Isle of the Manx pink; to his south he could see the misty mountains of Beanna Boirche growing more visible as the sun rose higher. Just to his north the long outline of Lough Cuan stretched its still waters dotted with the outlines of many small islands; beyond that in the far distant blue, was Alba. His father sailed there often, and next year he would be going with him, after his term of shepherding was finished, he too could go to sea. He longed for that, to be able to sail with the wind and see many different places, he spent countless long hours, bored on this hill, day dreaming about sailing away, but for now, he was forced to watch the sheep, his one comfort and joy was Bran, his dog. Bran was still a big puppy and still loved to fetch sticks that Naoise threw for him, he was a big shaggy collie dog, with one ear black and the other white; a fluffy white chest and four white paws that looked like socks, and he obeyed Naoise with utter devotion. He had picked Bran from the litter, and had carried him everywhere with him, before the puppy was big enough to scamper after him, now they were inseparable and he now lay curled up at Naoise’s feet.

The rest of the day past in calm boredom, as Naoise and Bran lay lazily in the warm sun, watching the sheep meandering over the hills, the only relief from the boredom was the wild life that played around them, the birds that fluttered happily in the skies above or the hares that flitted about in the long grasses. It was a lonely job sitting up on top of this hill and the day passed slowly, as the dusk fell around him Naoise built a small fire, he and Bran was lying in front of it, it was still quite light in west but the long shadows were growing behind him. In the skies above, dark shapes flitted, as the crows, swooped and dived, filling the air with their raucous screech, Naoise lay watching the crows, ‘getting ready for bed and fighting over their perches, just as he fought with his brothers for the most comfortable spot in the bed’, he thought. He curled himself up and dozed off, as the night sounds grew louder and Bran snored gently beside him.

It seemed like only minutes later he awoke Bran was growling frantically, the hackles on his back stood up, Naoise could see nothing in the darkness, and the sheep were uneasy, stamping and bleating. Suddenly Bran took off barking furiously, running fast across the open hill; Naoise could just make out the white of his paws as he disappeared over a stone wall. Racing after him Naoise could hear the barking and snarling of dogs fighting and was shocked to see a huge wolf wrestling Bran on the ground, rolling over each other. This great hound had Bran down by the throat, but Bran managed to escape its huge teeth, and fixed his own on its neck. Naoise seemed to see fur fly as they whirled round and round, he jumped over the wall and beat the bigger dog with his staff, getting it just on his shoulders, Bran was still holding on to its back, but was being shaken as hard as the fierce beast could. He could smell the dank breath of the beast, and he struck it as hard as he could again, he heard a dull crack, as his crook hit the bone of its skull, the dog let out a great yelp, dropping Bran, it skulked off, into the undergrowth

Naoise knelt beside Bran who lay panting on the ground, blood spattered his muzzle and he yelped in pain as Naoise tried to lift him up. “Bran, let me see what’s hurt, lets get you back to the hut“. He could see a little blood but it was not gushing so he was too worried.” Bran had now stopped whining and had perked up a bit at up, was sitting up “Good boy lets go, Bran, come on boy, up with you, lets get back to the sheep”. Bran was now on his feet, and was limping after Naoise back up the hill to their camp. When above them he heard the sheep begin to squeal and shriek, he began to run, frantically back up the hill. Jumping over the wall, he could just make out the shape of the huge wolf, its muscled haunch rippling, and its great strong neck held low as it carried a still struggling sheep in its fierce jaw, its jowls stained with foam and blood. It turned a baleful eye on Naoise as if to challenge him, then turned and looped away in to the undergrowth. Naoise raced after it as it disappeared into the dense undergrowth.Ignoring the brambles and gorse briars, as they caught and pulled him, Naoise rushed headlong across the hill, so intent on pursuit, he did not see the drop before him, until he was sailing over the void, landing hard with a burning crack of pain as his ankle hit a jutting rock, landing solidly hard on the cruel barbs of the gorse that surrounded him. He lay stunned, the breath knocked out of him, then waves of excruciating pain, grew as he tried to move his leg. Each movement brought bile into his mouth and a blackness into his head as he tried to move. He lay back imprisoned in his bed of thorns, high above, a half moon winked at him though the scudding clouds, and he remembered the man in the moon, that his mother had told him about when he was little, and wished she was here now.

He must have passed out, as the next thing he felt was a warm wet tongue, licking his face, he could smell the blood on Bran's fur, as he tried to revive him, Naoise was still pinned by the many thorns the pierced him, each time he tried to get free he was caught again on another barb. Bran was frantically pulling at him trying to free him; he felt the cloth rip as one bramble pulled loose. He managed to sit up but each time he moved his ankle a wave of sickness threatened to overwhelm him; his hands were scratched and full of barbs, but he had to ignore the pain and just keep pushing his way out of the brambles. He wrapped his hands in his woollen brat and pushed himself a little bit at a time. Underneath the bushes, the thorns did not grow as thick and Naoise lay among the twisted roots and thought what to do; Bran lay beside him nuzzling him with his cold nose, checking to make sure he was all right. He could hear the night sounds around him, he wondered how far off the dawn was and if he could make it down the hill, he knew he had broken his ankle and he needed to get help.

The sun was now high above him; Naoise watched the white fluffy clouds as they drifted lazily across the wide blue expanse. He had managed to escape from his prison of thorns, had crawled some distance, and was resting against the stone of the hill. Bran lay beside him, he could see the torn flesh were the wolf had bitten him, two big puncture wounds on either side of his muzzle, torn fur and scratches all down one side. “Poor Bran, look at us we have been in the wars haven’t we, we need to get help and get off this hill, if only you could go for help, cause with this foot I’m useless” sighed Naoise. Looking down at his ankle he could see it was broken, it lay at the wrong angle, swollen an angry dark purple mottled with red. His toes were pure white and he had difficulty moving them, he knew that he had to get help soon. He looked at Bran, and began to stroke his matted fur,” Bran I want you to go for Rory, you need to get Rory”, he said again and he willed the dog to understand him. Bran looked up at him with a puzzled look, and Naoise repeated “Get Rory, go to Rory “. Bran looked quizzically cocking his head to one side as if thinking then he jumped up with a bark and ran off, before he quickly returned to lick Naoise , “ No Bran get Rory , go get Rory and bring him back to me , go boy go”.

This time Bran ran off and did not come back. It seemed like days later that Naoise heard barking and his name shouted, getting steadily closer up the hill, then happily Bran came bounding into the clearing , followed closely by his friends Rory and hard behind him Danna . They came quickly to him and bent down to look at his injuries, “We knew something was up, as soon as Bran came bounding in to my camp and went berserk, barking and howling, and running round and round, that is one great wee dog. How bad is it, looks broken to me, how long have you laid here”. Rory was gently touching the foot, but each movement brought a wave of agony to Naoise. “Have some water, we will get you some food in a minute, and that should make you feel a bit better. I don’t think you will be able to hobble down the hill. Danna can you go for help, go to the monks at Saul, tell them we need a donkey to get him down the hill. One of the brothers might come and see his injuries or maybe Manus can bring his curragh to the closest point to here then we will be able to sail him down the lough to Dun Keltair, the monks there have the best healing around here”, said Rory as he made Naoise as comfortable as possible.

Soon Danna returned leading a donkey, closely followed by a small monk who briskly strode up the hill and knelt down to where Naoise lay. “ Well son what have you been up to, I heard you fought a wolf, we have heard them the past few nights we even have lost some birds that strayed out of their coups“, he said as he gently rotated Naoise’s foot, pressing the bones under the purple mottled swelling. “ I think your ankle is broken, and the best healer around is Aidán at Monastery of the Irish at Dun Keltair, if we can get you down the hill then we can sail you up the Lough to them and they should be able to b help you.”

With Rory under one shoulder and Danna the other they managed to heave Naoise up and onto the beast, and began the slow descent, going carefully so as no not make any sudden lurches that would make the pain worse. Eventually, it seemed to Naoise days later, they reached the shore, where the small boat that was to take him the rest of the way, lay pulled up on the beach. With care, they lifted Naoise off the donkey and laid him on the ground, Bran came, his wet nose rubbing his cheek, Naoise hugged him,” Best dog, good boy. Rory will you look after Bran and see that his cuts get cleaned and he is well fed, here boy, you are going to stay with Rory and he will be good to you till I get back “said Naoise. He stroked and hugged Bran, before Rory and Danna lifted Naoise carrying him down the beach and into the boat, as it lay in the shallow water. “Right Naoise, don’t you worry about anything, Bran will be fine with me. Danna and me will watch your sheep, and we will get a message to you Mother, so all you have to do is get that ankle better”, said Rory. Wading in the shallows he helped Manus push the boat out into the current, they stood watching as the small boat sailed down the Lough taking him to the Monastery of the Irish at the hill of Dun.