opened his dim eyes and raised himself a little from the ground.
"Grieve not for me," he whispered. "See, already the hosts of the Ever-Living Ones wait to guard me on my way to the Land of the Living Heart."
He tried to stretch out his hand to Fionn, but it dropped powerless to his side, and listening to Fionn's grief the life went from him.
Fionn turned away, and covering his face with his hands wept heavy, unavailing tears. Only twice during his life did he weep: once for the death of his wise hound Bran, and now over Oscur, his heart's delight.
The handful of Fians who survived raised the three cries of sorrow over the dead hero; afterwards they prepared him for the grave. From his shoulders to his feet he was covered with wounds, only his face remained calm and beautiful, unmarked by any hurt.
They covered Oscur's breast with his banner—the white silken banner embroidered with the slender rowan-tree and drooping clusters of blood-red berries—then they carried him
