Knowledge
“I told you a lie,” said Finegas to Fionn. “The Salmon of Knowledge was to be caught by me according to the prophecy, it’s true, but it was not to be eaten by me. It was given to you, dear son. Let you now eat up the fish.” The Boyhood of Fionn Birds give the danger-on-the-ground alarm and I see a quoll with an injured leg go limping through the garden, not bothering to stay under cover though it’s broad daylight. It’s a big male, worn out by two or maybe three years of fighting and mating; I know as soon as I see him that he’s looking for a place to die. But first he wants water. He goes to the little pool where a pot overflows into a rock hollow, easy to reach, secluded. Next day I hear ravens close to the house, on the ground where they never come, calling Strange! What’s that? and we find the quoll curled beside the water where he lay down after one last sweet mouthful. Close by, the clean bones of another quoll, almost certainly his forebear, who a few years ago also chose thi