O’Riordan reported that he joined the faeries of Daffodil in a great banquet hall under a hill. And when the King bade him dine, O’Riordan did not make the fool’s mistake of declaring he would not eat the leaves of trees. Instead, he concealed the indigestible fare in his pockets, and so returned alive to the world of men. He has been stricken by sharp pains ever since, whenever he places hand in pocket.
Smith’s ordeal was rather more dangerous. He happened upon the Little Men of the Catchfly as they prepared to sacrifice a trussed shrew to Diana. In their mischievous way, they made Smith the Master of Revels. They handed him an acorn cup and a thorn and bade him drain the victim’s blood. Smith thought quickly, and plunged the thorn into a nearby haw berry. The revellers screamed, the moon rose and set three times in quick succession, and Smith awoke naked in Glamorgan’s ditch as the dew was forming, shaken, tattooed, but otherwise unharmed. He found himself sporting a tattoo of odd design. It pains him in the presence of milk.
Then it was my turn.