Born in Derry raised to tender parents out into the wild woods with a crate of whiskey and a caravan he rolled to learn from the oul ones, the howling owl swung down and dropped a banjo on his head. He's not been right since. Keeps talking about gods in th trees and the stars falling. Sure makes the skin on ya neck creep up when he closes his eyes and leans back and hits you with some of his old tales.. damn fool lies most of them i reckon, but then pappy always said that was what the girls want. He's out walking the roads now.. blowing a harp.. fighting wolves on the welsh borders last time i met him. Leastways that's what the villagers told me. Said he'd be back soon. I'll let you know...