«The fawn runs well,» his thought continued. «What is it, a Vran, my heart? After her, a Heo’lan! Hist and away, my loves!»
«There is going and to spare in that beast yet,» his mind went on. «She is not stretched to the full, nor half stretched. She may outrun even Bran,» he thought ragingly.
They were racing through a smooth valley in a steady, beautiful, speedy flight when, suddenly, the fawn stopped and lay on the grass, and it lay with the calm of an animal that has no fear, and the leisure of one that is not pressed.
«Here is a change,» said Fionn, staring in astonishment.
«She is not winded,» he said. «What is she lying down for?» But Bran and Sceo’lan did not stop; they added another inch to their long-stretched easy bodies, and came up on the fawn.
«It is an easy kill,» said Fionn regretfully. «They have her,» he cried.
But he was again astonished, for the dogs did not kill. They leaped and played about the fawn, licking its face, and rubbing delighted noses against its neck.