an,' said the Dog of Maol-mor. 'May success go with you,
for you took what I had to give and did not mock me. So, when danger is
your companion, wish for me, and I will not fail you.'

At these words the Dog of Maol-mor disappeared into the forest, and
Covan went to seek his cows, which were standing in the hollow where the
darkness had come upon them.

At the sight of Covan the Brown-haired they walked onwards, Covan
following ever behind them, and looking neither to the right nor to
the left. All that day they walked, and when night fell they were in a
barren plain, with only rocks for shelter.

'We must rest here as best we can,' spoke Covan to the cows. And they
bowed their heads and lay down in the place where they stood. Then came
the black raven of Corri-nan-creag, whose eyes never closed, and whose
wings never tired; and he fluttered before the face of Covan and told
him that he knew of a cranny in the rock where there was food in plenty,
and soft moss for a bed.

'Go with me thither,' he said to Covan, 'and you shall lay aside
three-thirds of your weariness, and depart in the morning refreshed,'
and Covan listened thankfully to his words, and at dawn he rose up to
seek his cows.

'Farewell!' cried the black raven. 'You trusted me, and took all I had
to offer in return for the food you once gave me. So if in time to come
you need a friend, wish for me, and I will not fail you.'

As before, the cows were standing in the spot where he had left them,
ready to set out. All that day they walked, on and on, and on, Covan
son of Gorla walking behind them, till night fell while they were on the
banks of a river.

'We can go no further,' spake Covan to the cows. And they began to eat
the grass by the side of the stream, while Covan listened to them and
longed for some supper also, for they had travelled far, and his limbs
were weak under him. Then there was a swish of water at his feet, and
out peeped the head of the famous otter Doran-donn of the stream.

'Trust to me and I will find you warmth and shelter,' said Doran-donn;
'and for food fish in plenty.' And Covan went with him thankfully, and
ate and rested, and laid aside three-thirds of his weariness. At sunrise
he left his bed of dried sea-weed, which had floated up with the tide,
and with a grateful heart bade farewell to Doran-donn.

'Because you trusted me and took what I had to offer, you have made me
your friend, Covan,' said Doran-donn. 'And if you