A silver moon hung low in the velvet sky above Ulster. The Goddess Macha walked the ancient path to the sacred Rowan Tree with a deep trepidation in her heart.

Her footsteps were as light as a whisper despite the weight of the twins she carried within her womb. Her bloodline. Her promise of destiny.

Her deep auburn hair cascaded like a waterfall of flames down her back, and her eyes, deep as the endless sky above, held a knowing possessed only to the Gods.

She knew of the feast her husband Crunniuc was to attend with the High King. She knew of their mead-soaked revelry and the boasts which flowed as freely as the ale. And she knew, deep in the very marrow of her bones, that Crunniuc would boast of her swiftness.

As she reached the ancient Rowan tree, it’s branches thick with scarlet berries; she raised her delicate, trembling hand to touch its gnarled trunk. It was as if the tree itself recognised her divinity for it shivered, and a breeze whispered through its leaves like a secret shared among old friends.

Macha closed her eyes, and the visions came to her like ripples like ripples in a
tranquil pool.

She saw Crunninc, his face flushed with wine, intoxicated, boasting about her speed to King and Court. The King spoke of a race, a challenge thrown into the night like a reckless dare. Macha would race the King's own steed, they decreed, for she was swifter than wind.

But there, beneath the Rowan’s ancient boughs, she saw more- a vision
darker than a starless void. She saw herself, heavily pregnant running with all her might against the King’s horse, the ground shaking beneath her feet, her heart pounding like a war drum. She outran the steed, but at the finish line, her labour began.

In her vision she gave birth to twins, but the pain flooded her body like waves crashing upon jagged rocks. Her life force waned, and she knew the cruel touch of her husband's pride and loose tongue. Her speed, a strength but also a curse. Her deadly gift.

Tears welled in her eyes as she watched herself breathe her last breath. With betrayal and humiliation heavy on her soul, she watched as her spirit merged with the land, becoming at one with the ancient roots once more.

Macha withdrew her hand from the sacred tree, her vision fading like mist before the dawn. She knew her fate was sealed, her destiny woven into the tapestry of time. With a heavy heart, she whispered a blessing upon the Rowan Tree, for it had shown her the truth, and the truth is both a gift and a curse in the world of the Gods.

As the silver moon continued its silent vigil, the goddess Macha turned away, her footsteps now heavy, echoing the weight of her impending doom. In the shadowed embrace of the night, she carried the knowledge of her own demise, the bitter fruit of her husband's thoughtless boast. Macha left the ancient forest that night, cradling her bump more tightly than when she had entered.