They went on to Harlech, and there stayed to rest. As they sat eating and drinking, the three birds of Rhiannon flitted up to the darkness of the rafters and began singing. All other songs were unpleasant compared to theirs. The birds seemed to be very far away, as it were across a wide sea, yet their notes were distinct. They were seven years sitting at this repast and listening to the birds of Rhiannon, and the seven years were no longer than a summer's day.
At the end of the seventh year they travelled to the bird island of Gwales, off Pembrokeshire. They found a fair and royal site overlooking the sea, and upon it a spacious hall. Into this hall they went, and two of its doors were open, but the third, which looked towards Cornwall, was closed. 'That,' said Manawythan, pointing, 'is the door we may not open.' That night they feasted and were glad. They remembered nothing of the past, nothing they had seen or done, nothing either joyous or sorrowful. And so they remained for fourscore years, so happy that they never thought whether they were happy or not. They never wearied, nor did they ever know or think how time was passing. The head of Bran was as pleasant to them as if he himself had been in their company, and these fourscore years were called 'The Entertaining of the Noble Head'.
One day Heilyn, the son of Gwynn, said: 'Ill luck to me if I do not open the door to know if that is true which Bran said of it.' He opened the door and they looked out towards Cornwall and Aber Henvelen. As they looked they remembered all things, their misery and losses, just as they had happened and as freshly as if those eighty years had never been; and especially they remembered the death of Bran. They could rest no longer. They journeyed to London and buried the
