Prevod

Fionn had a splendid hound. That was Bran. You have heard tell of Bran. This was her colouring: yellow legs, two black sides and a white belly, a green back—the colour of the hunting ground—and two round ears, both red.

Bran could overtake the wild winds, so swift was she. When she was still a pup, a quarrel or some such trouble broke out among the hounds of the Fianna, and

Bran killed sixty hounds and twenty pups while she was still a pup herself, and would have killed as many again. It was Fionn himself who killed Bran. They went out hunting, and Fionn’s mother was changed into a doe. Bran was pursuing her.

“Foolish doe, leave the mountain,” said Fionn. “O young son,” she said, “where can I escape? If I go into the sea, I shall never return; and if I go up into the air, my speed will not carry me beyond Bran’s reach.”

“Come between my two legs,” said Fionn. She passed between his legs, and Bran followed her. As Bran came through, Fionn squeezed his knees together upon her and killed her.

Bran had a daughter. This pup was a black hound, and the Fianna reared her. They told the woman who was looking after the pup to feed her on the milk of a cow without a single spot, to give her every drop and withhold none of it. The woman did not do this, but kept back some of the milk instead of giving it all to the pup. The first day the Fianna let the young hound out, there was a glen full of wild geese and other birds. When the black hound was loosed among them, she caught them all except a very few that escaped through a gap. Had the woman not kept back some of the milk, she would have killed them all.

When the hound was out, he asked the people beside him how the young hound had fared. They told him that she had killed all the geese and birds in the glen except a few that had escaped through a gap, and that she was coming home now. “If she had been given all the milk from the cow without a single spot,” said the blind man, “she would not have let a single bird escape.” Then he asked how she was coming home. “She is coming now,” they said, “with a fiery glow streaming from her neck, and she is raging.”

“Do as I ask now,” said the blind man, “and sit me in the chair and put a coal in my hand, for unless I kill her now, she will kill us all.” The hound came, and he threw the coal at her and killed her, blind though he was.

But if that pup had been given all the milk, she would have come home and lain down quietly, as Bran used to do.