through the spite of Pwyll and Pryderi....
It's from a very obscure, very old poem originally written in Welsh, and those two lines are just stuck, stuck, stuck. Whatever legend there was about Gwair is lost to time...but my muse is nibbling hard. Driving me crazy.
Shakes fist at the ghost of the bard Taliesin. Not the first poem of his that has done this to me. So much obscurity and lost legend....
