His hawk on his wrist;
A brave steed to carry him whither he list,
And the green ground under him,

and he rode on until he came to the turn in the road. Sure enough the old gray
fellow was there. "So you've come to me again, King's Son," said he. "I have,"
said the King of Ireland's Son, "and I'll play a last game with you on the
same understanding as before." He tied his horse to the branch and sat down on
the heap of stones. They played. The King of Ireland's Son lost the game.
Immediately the gray old fellow threw the cards down on the stones and a wind
came up and carried them away. Standing up he was terribly tall.

"King's Son," said he, "I am your father's enemy and I have done him an
injury. And to the Queen who is your father's wife I have done an injury too.
You have lost the game and now you must take the penalty I put upon you. You
must find out my dwelling-place and take three hairs out of my beard within a
year and a day, or else lose your head."

With that he took the King of Ireland's Son by the shoulders and lifted him on
his horse, turning the horse in the direction of the King's Castle. The King's
Son rode on

His hound at his heel,
His hawk on his wrist;
A brave steed to carry him whither he list,
And the blue sky over him.

That evening the King noticed that his son was greatly troubled. And when he
lay down to sleep everyone in the Castle heard his groans and his moans. The
next day he told his father the story from beginning to end. The King sent for